


Dance of the Seven Devils

by Rotting_Goddess



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Convent, Drinking, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fictional Religion & Theology, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Kylo Ren is a hot priest, Orphanage, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Priest Kink, Priest Kylo Ren, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rey is very horny, Self-Blame, Setting: pastoral countryside, Slow Burn, Smoking, Smut, To Be Edited, Victim Mentality, mild violence, pregnancy related death of a minor original character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 46,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23565043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rotting_Goddess/pseuds/Rotting_Goddess
Summary: "Mary, called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out..."—Luke 8:1-3Rey is an art schoolteacher at Amidala Asylum and Academy, where desires go unexplored. Everything, however, changes when she meets the hot new priest, Father Kylo.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship - Finn (Star Wars) / Rose Tico, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 117
Kudos: 91





	1. Dirty Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags and happy reading!

The senior Sisters of Amidala Asylum and Academy would think Rey a wicked woman. Sinful. Sacrilegious. Perhaps they already did.

_If_ they did, they wouldn’t be wrong. 

And if the senior sisters ever decided to act in righteousness against her because they believed her wicked and sinful and sacrilegious, all hell would break loose. 

With wrinkled wimples worn on their heads, foreheads the size of vast landmasses, the senior sisters would storm into the studio where she worked in the afternoons on the weekends. And they would gather like geese and cluck their tongues against the roofs of their mouths and _tsk_ like warning rattlesnakes surfacing from inside woven baskets and wag their fingers at her. 

And at the helm, Mother Superior, Sister Leia, stern and scandalized, would slap her across the face. Maybe slap her twice, for good measure. 

And then they would claim devils were inside her. 

_Sexy devils, more like it_ , she thought, dipping her paintbrush into a jar of dirty water. _Horny, hairy imps. Yes, I prefer them over the dull as dishwater angels._

Mother Superior of Shmi’s Convent (inoperative since the war), Sister Holdo, would agree with her. She would even laugh. Not at her. Never. 

It would have been such delicious chaos if they _did_ find her in the studio, just now, sitting on a stool like a lazy bird perched on a stiff branch, her skirt hitched up, an easel set before her, painting a very nude novice sister who had yet to rid herself of worldly vices.

_Poor thing_ , she mused of the sister. _Must have learned scrubbing hallway floors and peeling potatoes were inorgasmic._

“You are certain we won’t get caught,” the young sister said as she posed across the chaise lounge, still covering her breasts.

Rey flung a stained rag over her shoulder and lit a cigarette. “You’re not the first, nor the last, sister I painted naked.” 

“You’ve done this before?” 

Rey nodded. “No one disturbs me while I work. That is the rule.” She exhaled, her face half-hidden in smoke. “The senior sisters know I often disappear to paint. And when they see a new sister such as yourself missing from her post of doing the laundry or kneeling in front of an icon of the Holy Ones in prayer, they know they’re with me because I once told them I was painting so-and-so’s portrait. A bit of truth in a lie, you see? Now, the sisters I paint know better than to tell. Can you imagine the scandal? Oh, they keep our secret. And why would I tell? What good would it do me? No, I’ve gotten quite good at keeping secrets. So, no one will find us. Feel better?” 

“A little.” 

“Good. I must ask you. Can you keep my dirty secret, Sister Kaydel?” 

Sister Kaydel blushed and nodded. “Yes.” 

“Excellent.” 

“This feels _wrong_.” 

“Why did you agree?” 

“When you came to me and asked to paint me, I took it as a joke. But you looked so sincere, I could not refuse you. I almost wanted to please you, and my saying yes, I thought, would very much please you. I only thought this because why would you want to paint me? I’m no beauty.” 

“Would you like to end it here?” 

Sister Kaydel shook her head. “No. I just...this feels _wrong_ , considering the vows I made, but I feel so _light.”_

“That’s because your tunic and underskirts are discarded on the floor there,” Rey said, pointing to the pile of Sister Kaydel’s religious habit in the corner.

“Yes, I know, but I feel _lighter_. _..freer_. There’s a sense of reckless abandon, you know? A perversion to all this that speaks to me.” 

“I suppose.” 

“Do you not feel this way?” 

“I have an artist’s eye, Sister Kaydel. And this is my art. Feelings of lightness, of freedom, are inconsequential until I reach perfection, and I demand perfection. Only then could I feel, as you say, _light._ ” 

“I see.” 

_You don’t._ Rey sighed. _You don’t see, and you’re such a skinny thing. I can see your ribs. I see you._ Sister Kaydel’s small body was like the carcass of a rabbit, rotting under an unforgiving sun, set upon by starved vultures, her skin pasty, her nipples the color of bruised peaches. 

“Do you plan on becoming a sister?” 

Rey laughed. “No.” 

“Then, you will remain a schoolteacher for the orphans?”

“Yes, that is the plan—teaching motherless and fatherless children how to draw.” 

“Drawing is a noble pursuit. I can barely draw stick figures. Miss Rey, I wish I had such a talent.” 

“Tilt your head back.” 

“And you paint icons as well?” 

“Arch your back a bit. Cover your cunt with your hand. Like this” 

Sister Kaydel blushed profusely. “Ye...yes.”

“Look here. That’s perfect.” 

“I envy you,” Sister Kaydel whispered. 

“Don’t.” 

“But I do. I became a sister because life was unkind to me. Still is. But _you..._ you look so free in your nice clothes. With your hair down. You work. You draw because you must. You have desires not shamed by others. I envy you.” 

Rey narrowed her eyes at the young sister. “You envy a _Nobody.”_

  
  



	2. Whiskey and Wistful Thinking

Later in the evening, Rey paced in her tiny bedroom, which wasn’t as palatial as the Mortis Chapel, given her small salary. It was a simple and plain room on the third floor of the asylum where the sisters and the schoolteachers slept. A bed and a nightstand, a desk and a chair, and a dresser and a mirror. And a large icon stationed on a wooden easel in the corner, a white sheet covering it. 

She stopped pacing and dared not look at the shrouded icon. 

_ Ah, but you do,  _ she thought.  _ You do want to look. _

Rey found not the courage to look and covered her face with her hands, squeezing her eyes shut—clawing her eyes out would have been dramatic; sticking pins into her eyes would have been too Oedipus. She growled in frustration.

_ Look. _

She sat cross-legged on the floor, and she undid the buttons of her shirt, took it off, rolled it up, and flung it across the room.

_ Look  _ . 

She lit a cigarette in defeat. “I will burn _ it  _ .” 

Before she brought the lighter close to the sheet, a knock came at her door. 

“Yes?” 

The door opened, and fellow schoolteacher Rose stood in the doorway. “Permission to enter, or do I disturb the genius at work?” 

“The genius is at rest; however, she requests payment for your entry.” 

“Like any good Sphinx that guards,” Rose muttered, and she revealed a bottle of whiskey from behind her. 

Rey clapped her hands. “Permission to enter granted. Oh, you are divine, Rose. A saint. A Force Ghost in the making.” 

Rose snorted, reaching for the two glasses from the top of Rey’s dresser. She set them down on the desk and poured the drinks. “I’d rather suffer in Chaos.” She handed a glass to Rey and held hers up in the air. “Now, cheers, you fluky tart.” 

“Cheers, you cheeky succubus.” 

Rose downed her drink and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I needed that,” she said, and she squinted down at her friend. “What happened to your shirt?” 

Rey sighed. “I was burning.” 

“It is a bit toasty in here.” Rose opened Rey’s bedroom window. “Have you finished it?” she then asked, drawing the curtains back. “Your masterpiece?” 

“I wouldn’t call it a masterpiece.” 

“Well?” 

“I think so.” 

“Let’s have a look.” 

“You look.” 

Rose rolled her eyes and lifted the white sheet. 

“Well?”

“It’s...it’s beautiful, Rey.” 

Rey fell backward onto the floor. “Oh, cover it up. Cover it up. I don’t want to look after all.” 

“Why?” 

“Insecurity.” 

“You’re an idiot. You have such incredible talent.” 

“Don’t shower me with compliments. I’ll only doubt more.” 

“Have another drink then? And then another. And then another. Then you’ll think yourself a god. Or worse: an insufferable man who thinks himself a god.” 

Rey propped herself up on her elbows. “Are we getting drunk tonight?” 

“I certainly plan to get drunk.” 

“Did something happen? Did Finn not send his weekly love letter to you?”

Finn was Rose’s lover. He was also the village doctor who made his monthly rounds at the asylum. Rey remembered well how Finn could not tear his eyes off of Rose when taking her pulse the first time he visited. Rose, of course, thought it a passing fancy, but when the fever broke at the asylum infecting all one winter, and she threw up all over his shoes, he gently brushed her bangs from her sweaty forehead and wrote her the first love letter of many the very next day. Then did she believe him and wrote back. 

“The trials of love,” Rey teased. 

Rose threw a pillow at her. “No, I had a tête-à-tête with Mother Superior.” 

“Which of the two?” 

“Who do you think?”

“By the looks of it, I’m assuming Sister Leia.” 

“She found my lesson on Bastila Shan and Revan inappropriate. Important figures of history, and she expects me not to speak of them.” Rose poured herself a second round of whiskey. 

“Didn’t you know, Rose? Compassion is a sin.” 

“Nonsense.”

“Shall we run away?”

“You tipsy shrew, we have nowhere to go.” 

“The island.” 

“The island from your dreams? Yes, let’s go. Let’s go to your island.” 

Rose sprawled out on the floor next to Rey, and they stared up at the ceiling. 

Perhaps it was the whiskey. Perhaps it was her loneliness. But Rey turned to her dearest friend and vowed, “I won’t die here, Rose."

“Neither shall I.” 

  
  



	3. Mornings Are for Coffee and Disappointment

In the dining hall, Rey slathered jam over her slice of burnt toast and took a bite. Then another. She leaned back in her chair and stared at the sea of faces: the spent and sleepy pinched faces of the few sisters left at the asylum, and the prim and proper faces of the schoolteachers, and the animated and happy round faces of the children, orphans from the war. And the faces of the Mother Superiors—Sister Leia, sitting at the head of the table, as stern as one would expect, sipping black coffee in moderation, and Sister Holdo, sitting to Sister Leia’s left and as cheerful as one would expect in the company of a grump, listening in earnest as Sister Jannah read aloud the morning paper. 

Intense sunlight streamed into the room through the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Someone draw the damn curtains,” Rey grumbled, squinting.

“Not a morning person, I presume,” Zorii Bliss remarked, digging her spoon into her soft-boiled egg, as Rose lifted her untouched mug of coffee to her lips. 

“When I think of morning people, I imagine punching their faces.” 

Rose raised an eyebrow at her. She took a quick sip before she handed her cup of coffee over to Rey. “Here, you monster.” 

_ I love you,  _ Rey mouthed. 

“I’m sure you do.” 

Zorii placed her spoon down. She leaned forward and whispered, “Never mind all that. Have you heard the news yet?” 

“What news?”

“Archbishop Snoke is to grace our little convent and orphanage tomorrow morning. He is set to perform mass with Mother Superior, Sister Leia.”

“Really?” 

Archbishop Snoke had been the religious abbot of the Knights of Ren monastery in the north before the war. A favorite of the Sith sect that praised the Dark Side of the Force, more so than the Light. His backstory was one of mystery. His rise to the status of archbishop was swift. During the war, he had been captured by enemy soldiers and lined up in front of a firing squad with other religious figures, and shot three times, once in the face. He survived the massacre. A miracle. He crawled from underneath the bodies of his brethren like a worm writhing out from underneath rocks. And he hid in the woods beyond the bombed monastery. By the time the surviving Knights of Ren found him, he had become a skinny, grotesque creature. 

After the war, he was hailed for his bravery and appointed archbishop over the region. He visited the convents hit hardest by the war, paid his respects to the ones that were no more. He had given his sincerest sympathies to Mother Superior, Sister Holdo, whose convent was burned down by enemy soldiers, and several of her sisters dead, their lifeless bodies ridden with bullets. It was his idea for the sisters of Shmi’s Convent to join with the sisters at Amidala Asylum and Academy. 

He was set to become a cardinal in the court of Supreme Leader of the Church of the Force. 

None of it mattered. Not to Rey. 

“After mass, he will bless the new monastery of the Knights of Ren, the one they built a few miles from here.” 

“Lucky us,” Rose mumbled. 

Zorii dabbed a napkin to the corners of her mouth. “I haven’t gotten to the best part.” 

“There’s more?” 

“We’ll have a new schoolteacher join our ranks. A priest. A Knight of Ren.” 

Rey’s eyebrows furrowed. “A Knight of Ren? Whatever for?” 

“A star pupil of Archbishop Snoke. Talented, they say. Quite the aficionado of all things the Force. He apparently left the monastic lifestyle to do some good. And besides, we’re lucky he will join us. We’re a small staff, Rey. How many are we? Not many. Rose has a load of three courses to teach. I’m at two, teaching geometry and Droidspeak. Old man Luke will retire soon. And, on top of everything else, Sister Beru broke her hip last week and will be out for who knows how long. Her position has yet to be filled.” 

“What class does she teach again?” 

“History of Magic and the Occult.”

“I remember that class when I was a student here. It’s hocus pocus if you ask me.” 

“I don't know about that, but it is said the Force grants people power.” 

Rey snorted. “You believe that?”

“The Force works in mysterious ways.” 

“‘The Force is not a power you have….It’s the energy between all things, a tension, a balance that binds the universe together.’” 

Rose clapped. “Tell me more, oh, wise one.” 

“Don’t mock. I don’t believe in all that rubbish. The Force is not a power source. It is a balance between the Light and the Dark.” 

Zorii smiled. “Ah, but why does the Dark keep winning?” 

Rey discreetly showed Zorii her middle finger, and she angrily ate the rest of her breakfast. 

_ Fuck the Dark.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last line of this chapter is literally the thesis statement of this entire smut 😂


	4. Like Sands Through the Hourglass

_Fuck it._

Rey unveiled the icon as if in a slow striptease, casting the white sheet to the hardwood floor. 

_Well?_

Sister Leia did not react. She did not speak. She sat stiffly behind her polished wooden desk, her face stern and as blank as a sheet of paper. 

Rey waited, and the wait became unbearable. 

_Do I have to bear my tits out to get a reaction?_ Rey thought, not blessed with patience. _Bloody fuck. Say something._

The silence from Sister Leia was as unbearable as the wait. And the wait for what? Approval? Shower of compliments? Love? 

If it were not the swooshing sound of the ceiling fan above their heads, Rey would’ve dove headlong out of the window. 

_Say something. Please_. 

She picked up the white sheet off the floor and bit her lower lip. She finally relented. “It’s Shmi, the Mother of the Chosen One.” 

Sister Leia simply nodded and continued to stare at the icon before her. 

“Will you believe me when I say I haven’t really looked at it?” Rey seated herself in one of the leather chairs, fumbling with her pack of cigarettes. “I sort of get ill before I pick up a brush to paint an icon. A fever.” She shook the carton, and a cigarette fell into her lap. “And I know I’ll have a vision. A vision of the faces of the holy. And once the vision is shown to me, I get swept up. I get into this frenzy. A passion.” She lit the cigarette. “I don’t realize what I’m doing. Not really. But my hands do. They know what they are doing. And when I feel my body at ease, I know it’s finished, and I quickly look away. Like my eyes, my seeing the thing I created will taint it.” She exhaled. “Do you believe me?” 

Sister Leia opened her drawer and retrieved a piece of cloth, and she removed her pince-nez glasses to clean them. “I cannot say of your process,” she said, at last. “However, the piece _is_ quite good.” 

* * *

_Quite good. Quite good. Quite good..._

An enraged Rey stormed down the front crumbling stone steps of the asylum and walked around the old building like a vengeful tempest.

_Quite good. Quite good. But not the best._

A gleeful group of students ran past her, laughing. _Happy, are they?_ How she wanted to smother all their laughing heads with a pillow. 

_Quite good. Quite good—Quite unexceptional._

She stopped and screamed, startling a bird from a nearby tree, and punched the brick wall, scraping the skin of her knuckles, tiny beads of blood swelling. 

_Quite good….Not special._

She leaned her forehead against the wall. 

“Easy, Rey,” she muttered. “Easy.” She straightened her back, and she lit a cigarette. 

“Rey?”

Sister Holdo drew near. She was holding onto a basket of fresh vegetables picked from the garden. She smiled. “Thought it might be you. Your hand. What happened?”

“It’s nothing.” 

“Nothing, you say? I usually scream into a pillow.” 

“No pillows to spare for unplanned outbursts, I’m afraid.”

“Is it the workload?” 

“It’s nothing. Really.” 

Sister Holdo nodded. She reached inside her pocket and retrieved a cigarette and lighter. “I’m a good listener, Rey. But I can take a hint.” 

And so they smoked in silence as the sun slowly dipped behind the purple-blue mountains in the distance.

Rey sighed. She turned to Sister Holdo and asked, “Why did you become a sister?” 

“I didn’t really become one. I was pushed into it, I suppose. You see, my family arranged my marriage to a fat, old man. And I was very young. I didn’t care to be a wife. To be a mother. I wanted something else for me.” 

“And so you ran off to become a sister?” 

“No, I fucked my very married neighbor.” 

“Oh.” Rey’s eyebrows furrowed. “And your family found out.” 

“No, _I_ told my family. And then _they_ shipped me off to Shmi’s Convent.” 

“Do you regret what you did?” 

“No. Never.” Sister Holdo took a long drag. “And you?” 

“I don’t plan on becoming a sister.” 

“When you turned eighteen, why didn’t you leave then?” 

“I told myself I would. I told myself I would pack up my things and go. I didn’t know where. Or what I would do. Perhaps teach, as I do now. But I remember, the day after my birthday, I sat on the bottom step in the front for hours. And before I knew it, it had gotten so dark I couldn’t see the road. I had gone back inside and told myself I would leave the next day." She laughed. “The very next day, I sat on the bottom step again, and I fell asleep because it was so hot outside, and I slept the entire day away. When I woke up, I told myself I would leave in the spring. Spring came, and I stayed. Five years have passed."

"A long time." 

"It’s like I’m cursed. It’s like I’m asleep, and all this is a dream. And I can’t wake up.” 

“What wicked wench has cast her spell on us, dear?” Sister Holdo sighed. 

_How will we break it?_ Rey shut her eyes, expecting an answer in the dark behind her eyelids, finding none. 


	5. Godless

With a cigarette dangling from her mouth, Rey put on her black bra; then, she sat down on the edge of her unmade bed and stretched out an unworn opaque black pantyhose and rolled them up. 

“There’s a hole in the bottom,” Rose said, powdering her nose. 

“Where?” 

“Bottom of your foot.” 

Rey took the cigarette between her fingers. “No one will tell. I’ll be wearing boots.” 

“You’re a mess.” 

“And this surprises you?” 

“Nothing you do surprises me anymore.” 

Rey grinned and got up from her bed, and she yanked her red collared dress from the hanger and shimmied into it. “I look like a harlot ready to scandalize pearl-clutchers at a funeral.” 

“And I look like a smiling widow who inherited her husband’s fortune.” 

"Hated by her suspicious stepchildren?"

"Of course." 

* * *

Rey, Rose, and Zorii shared a cigarette outside Mortis Chapel before going inside to sit with the rest of the sisters, the schoolteachers, and orphans from the asylum and having to endure an entire morning of listening to soulless sermons. 

“I could use a drink,” Rose admitted sadly. 

Zorii looked down at her wristwatch. “It’s eight in the morning.” 

“I said what I said.” 

Rey took a drag of the cigarette, smiling, and stared after the villagers from neighboring villages as they climbed the stone steps and passed underneath the ornate arches, through the doors. She couldn’t concentrate on the story Zorii began to tell of a sister at Maz Kanata's Convent had done with a cucumber, although she would have to request a second retelling. Instead, she curiously watched a mother and a father trying to soothe a weepy child—the mother picked the child up and rubbed the child's back, and the father made funny faces at the child until, at last, the child giggled; the mother and father smiled at each other. 

“Rey?” 

Rey blinked. 

“Are you coming?” Rose was already at the top of the steps, looking down at her, concerned. 

“Yes,” she whispered. 

Loneliness had stuck its sword into her heart, a repeated offense. 

* * *

Inside, the chapel was chilly. Whatever little light the stained-glass windows let in was not enough to warm Rey’s body. She was so cold. So alone. 

“Are you alright?” Rose whispered in her ear. 

“I’m fine,” she lied. She couldn’t meet her friend’s eyes. She tried to focus her attention on anywhere, on anything, on anyone—

“Rey?” 

Rey’s eyes widened. “Holy fuck and all the Force Ghosts,” she hissed. 

“What?” Rose squeaked. 

“ _ He  _ ’s so fucking huge.” 

“Who’s huge?” 

“So huge, like the redwood trees I used to climb as a child.” 

Rose rolled her eyes. 

“Imagine climbing  _ him  _ .” 

“ _ Who  _ ?” Rose said, a bit rather loudly. 

Sister Jannah provided them with her infamous death stare. “Shhh.”

Rey stifled a laugh. She leaned close to Rose to avoid another admonishment from Sister Jannah and said in a low voice, “The priest, I think. Sitting up there with Archbishop Snoke.” 

Rose looked, and her eyebrows shot up. “ _ Well  _ .” 

“ _ Well, indeed  _ .” 

“He  _ is  _ huge.” 

“Very.” 

Rey breathed out slowly.

_ Stop staring, you idiot.  _ She couldn’t. Surely it was not wrong to admire from afar. Look but don’t touch—that sort of thing. Especially for an artist who had an eye for all things beautiful. Because he was beautiful. Painstakingly so. The way his broad shoulders showed beneath the black robes he wore, or the way his asymmetrical face was framed with locks of hair the color of ink, his Roman nose perhaps chiseled by a sculptor, (  _ I wish I knew how to fucking sculpt  _ ), the constellations of beauty marks scattered across his pale skin, his full lips—An artist’s dream. 

She was mesmerized, high on incense, stroked by the cold, chills running up and down her body underneath her dress. She might’ve as well have whistled. 

Was she that horny?

_ Idiot. _

She was horny, all the time. 

Archbishop Snoke suddenly faced the crowd. He tilted his head back and lifted his arms, and right on cue, attendees stood.

Rey gritted her teeth and stood, reluctant to do so.

What was wrong with her? 

Light spilled from the stained-glass windows, across the pews, the faces of the faithful, exiling the shadows from the morning….

_ He  _ turned, and his gaze fell upon her. 

_ Fuck.  _

She clenched her pussy, the entirety of mass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all are enjoying the story so far! Things are about to get more interesting. And I promise, the smut is coming.  
> 


	6. Selling Souls Unselfishly

Rey fingered the hole in her stockings. Dried blood stained her fingertips. _Fuck._

“You are—and this bears repeating—a mess. A fucking mess.” Rose shuffled through her purse for a tissue and hissed, “We’re not even drunk yet.”

“I call this my Pre-Drunk,” Rey said, unable to conceal her giddiness. 

She must’ve looked like a lunatic to the attendees exiting through the front doors. Perhaps she was. All for good reason, of course. She needed to get away from the closing walls of the chapel, the unreachable ceiling, _his_ smoldering gaze. As soon as mass concluded with _May the Force Be With You_ , and _Always_ , she ran down the front steps of the chapel like a madwoman on fire. And in her haste, she missed a step and fell, scraping her hands and knees. 

“Here.” Rose handed her a tissue.

“Thank you.” Rey cleaned the blood around the small wounds and got to her feet. She laughed. “When I was a child, there was once a sister who convinced me I had two left feet, and I became so self-conscious that I tripped everywhere, even on flat surfaces.” 

“That’s adorable, but also pitiable.” 

Rey grinned. She tugged at her braid and let loose her waist-length hair and hooked her arm through Rose’s, and Rose shook her head. They dragged their feet along the side of the road, where they slowly made their way back to the asylum, like two good old slugs underneath the blistering sun. 

* * *

Rose sighed. “So many stairs. All I want to do is hide in my room. Jump into bed. And take a nap.” She leaned against the staircase railing and pinched at her bra, which dug into her side. “A very long nap.” 

“Will you dream of Finn finger-fucking you?” Rey asked, unzipping her boots. 

“Bold of you to assume he doesn’t do that already.” 

Rey grinned and placed her boots down on the ground. 

Rose narrowed her eyes at the daunting flight of stairs. “Carry me.”

“I cannot.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll be up in a bit, Rose. I’m going to head over to the studio and get the secret stash." She whispered the last bit. 

“Secret stash?” 

“The bottle of vodka I keep on the top shelf in the closet.” 

“You keep a bottle of vodka in the studio?” 

“Yes.”

“And you’re going to get it? Without any shoes?”

“Yes.” 

Rose had a look— _what the fuck are you doing with your life_ look—on her face. But in resignation, she turned around and started up the stairs. “I’ll be in my room.” 

“See you later, alligator.” 

Rose flipped her off. 

* * *

The studio was no paradise. Strips of wallpaper limply drooped like dying flowers in crystal vases. The moldy ceiling sometimes leaked. A few tiles were missing from the floor; a few were cracked. The one window was completely boarded up. 

It had, at one point, been a barn; however, it was remastered to look like a presentable appendage to the asylum. But the war took its toll on all the buildings in the countryside. And repair for it was out of the question. 

Despite its horrid appearance, it belonged to Rey. It was her secret place, her sanctuary where she could drink and smoke and revel in her debauchery. Her church, where she felt intoxicatingly powerful. No one was allowed in without her permission. 

And so one could only imagine the seething rage she felt between her ribs, inside her chest when she happened upon Sister Leia, Sister Holdo, and Archbishop Snoke gathered around her easel, staring at her icon, which thankfully did not face her, their eyes beholding what she made, uncovering the hidden thing beneath the drawing, stripping its mystery. Undressing her icon with their eyes. Undressing _her._

She cleared her throat. 

“Rey!” Sister Holdo left Sister Leia’s side and took hold of Rey’s wrists. “What...what happened?” 

“I fell.” 

“Are you alright?” 

“I’ll survive if that’s what you mean.” 

Sister Leia, noticing Rey’s lack of shoes, narrowed her eyes. “Look at all the blood.” 

“It’s mostly dried now.” 

“Do be careful next time.” 

Rey dug her fingernails into the insides of her palms. “I’ll make sure not to bleed the next time I fall.” 

Sister Holdo smiled. “Will you rub dirt on it then?” 

“How unsanitary, Sister Holdo.” 

Sister Leia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Archbishop, this is Miss Rey, our unorthodox art schoolteacher, and the artist behind all of these icons.” 

Archbishop Snoke smiled approvingly at Rey, or at least, that was what Rey assumed he was trying to do. She couldn’t tell. Half of his face was scarred up tissue, the one side of his jaw barely hanging on like a loose shutter. 

“Miss Rey,” Archbishop Snoke shrilled, holding out his hand, a giant black diamond ring wrapped around his middle finger shining like a pearl planted in an unclamped clam. 

_He wants me to kiss his hand. I’d sooner bite off his finger._

But Sister Leia threw her a dirty look. _Fuck._ She leaned forward, took the Archbishop’s hand, and pressed her lips against his knuckles. _Fuck._

“Beautiful.” 

Rey froze. 

“Your art, I mean.” 

_FUCK._

She hadn’t noticed _him_. 

And how could she? He had hidden in the corner, admiring the icons hanging on the walls... _Holy Ones_...He had a husky voice, deep, dripping of hot sex. And he was staring at her. 

And she was staring back. 

She frowned. 

Somehow, she had overlooked the scar that ran through one side of his face. How did she miss that detail? How very sexy—

“Rey,” Sister Holdo said, pulling her back to reality. “This is Father Kylo. He’ll be joining the staff soon.” 

Father Kylo held out his hand, and she reached for him. And they touched, their palms meeting like two naked bodies in bed. She shivered. Such an innocent touch. So rough; her hand completely disappeared in his. 

“Father,” she greeted. 

He let go of her hand. 

“Are we intruding, Rey?” Sister Holdo asked. “Did you want to paint?” 

“Oh, no. I came to get my lesson plan. I left it in here the other day,” Rey lied and made her way around her desk and yanked open the top drawer. She shuffled through loose paper, simultaneously feeling a stranger in her own studio with each passing second and a naughty vestal. She could feel _his_ eyes on her. 

Archbishop Snoke clasped his hands behind his back. “Father Kylo is right. You are talented, Miss Rey. You capture the Force and its mysteries so well. It takes a sensitivity to be so attuned to the divine.” He stalked back to the icon she most dreaded to set her eyes upon. “A much agreeable purchase, I must say.” 

Rey frowned. “Purchase?” 

“Father Kylo has purchased your most recent icon as a gift to the Knights of Ren monastery,” Sister Leia said. “Very thoughtful of him, is it not?” 

“It’s...it’s not for sale.” 

Sister Leia blinked. “It is finished, is it not?”

“Yes.” 

“Then there is no reason to keep it and let it collect dust.” 

“You have not my permission.” 

“Possessiveness and selfishness are not the ways of the Light, Rey.” 

“It's not for sale,” Rey said through clenched teeth. 

“If there’s a problem, I will gladly recant my purchase.” 

“No, Father Kylo,” Sister Leia said. “It is yours.” 

Rey thought of picking up a blank canvas and slamming it down on Sister Leia’s head, but Sister Holdo slightly shook her head, a hint to Rey to let it go. 

“Excuse me,” Rey said and left what had once been her paradise that now had become her hell. 

* * *

  
  


That night, Rey curled up in her bed like a wounded animal, clutching a pillow to her chest, and she soundlessly wept in the dark.


	7. Confessions

Rose had gone off with Finn to the village and wouldn’t be back until dinnertime. Rey was happy for the lovebirds. And she was also so terribly bored. So bored. She had even offered to lend her services to Eunice, the cook of the asylum, and help with the groceries. She could’ve holed herself in the studio and painted, but she had not the slightest ounce of strength to pick up a paintbrush. She hadn’t in over a week since the debacle with Sister Leia and the icon. 

“You’re a dear, Rey,” said Eunice. 

Rey, following Eunice, carried two brown paper bags of fresh vegetables, fruits, and bread from the van into the kitchen and set them down on the island. “You think I have enough brownie points to be one with the Force yet?” 

Eunice pointed the end of a carrot at her. “Behave.” 

“No promises.” 

And the two women laughed just as the young Temiri Blagg ran into the kitchen, flung open a cabinet door, and hid inside. 

Rey raised an eyebrow at the cook, who shrugged and went about her business sorting through the groceries. 

“Broom Boy! Where are you, Broom Boy!” 

A group of children then appeared in the doorway, and they ran into the kitchen, screaming ‘Broom Boy,’ flinging open cabinets, smacking their palms against countertops. They stepped on Eunice’s foot and knocked over a bag of red apples onto the floor. “BROOM BOY!”

Eunice cursed, and Rey bellowed, “ _Out!_ ” and the children, wide-eyed, heeded her tone and ran right out. 

“Troublemakers,” Eunice muttered, untying her apron. “The whole lot of them.” 

Rey laughed. 

“Find it funny, do you?” 

“Wasn’t I just as out of control as a child?”

“Oh, I remember. You were far worse. I'm off to the infirmary." 

Rey watched her go. “You may come out now, Temiri.”

Temiri crawled out from the cabinet. “Are they gone?”

“They are.” 

Temiri sighed. 

“Broom Boy?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Why were they chasing you then?” 

“Theka wanted to fight me.”

Rey lit a cigarette. “Well, I showed you how to break a nose, didn't I?” 

“Miss Tico said violence is not the best approach to things.” 

“You can always flail your arms and shake and yell like you're crazed or possessed by evil spirits. That will get people to stay away from you. I tried it once. And people certainly stayed away.” 

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” Rey said and stuck the cigarette back into her mouth. She knelt to pick up the apples off the floor, lowered herself more, and reached for one that had rolled underneath the oven. “Fuck,” she mumbled. 

She then heard footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Certainly, it was not Temiri. Was it Cook? She turned and found black polished dress shoes pointed at her. 

Large shoes that belonged to a very large man. 

She looked up and removed the cigarette from between her lips. “Father,” she said and momentarily considered the black tunic he wore a holy revelation. “Nice dress.” 

He snorted. “Too much?” 

“A bit formal, for my taste.” Rey got to her feet, smoothing the front of her black skirt, and she saw that Temiri went to leave. “Hold on, kiddo.” She tossed him an apple. “Remember what I told you.” 

“The palm heel strike?”

Rey nervously laughed. “No, the other thing.” 

“Right.” And Temiri exited. 

Father Kylo raised an eyebrow at her. “Um...I didn’t...I didn’t mean to interrupt.” 

“No, you didn’t.” 

“Good.” He scratched the stubble on his cheek. “Then, I would like to apologize, Miss….” 

“Rey. Just Rey.” 

“Rey.” Father Kylo’s eyes chaotically darkened, like two black holes. “Last week...I was meaning to...I didn’t know the icon wasn’t for sale. If I did, I wouldn’t have dared purchase it.” 

“Well, now, you know.” 

“To make amends, I will gladly give it back.” 

Rey shook her head. “No, I don’t want that. Like Sister Leia said, the icon is yours now. You don’t want to have Sister Leia as your enemy. Trust me.” 

“Then what do you want?” 

_Your tongue on my clit._

“To make peace,” he continued. 

Rey tapped the ashes over the sink. “I didn’t declare war.” 

“Are we friends, then?” 

_Force help me._

She smiled. “Yes. Friends.” 

* * *

  
  


Rey dreamt of the priest. 

And in the dream, she found herself in an unfamiliar, broken-down church filled with smoke, sprawled across the altar steps like a virgin sacrifice stretched out on a stone slab. He towered over her. Enigmatic. Divine. A mystery. He knelt and crawled towards her, his chaotic eyes set on her. Only her. 

_Tempt me,_ he said roughly, and he pushed up the satin nightgown she was wearing, admiring the dark curls between her legs. His hands covered the span of her waist. _Invite me to your temple. Let me worship you._

Her breath hitched. 

_Give me your sin._ And he reached down between her legs and cupped her sex—

* * *

Rey bolted up halfway in bed, panting, her pussy slick. 

_Fuck. Me._

* * *

The next day, Rey visited the small church across from the asylum the sisters went to when in need of solitude and solace. She shut the door behind her, made sure she was alone, and knelt at the altar. An icon of the Holy Ones hung on the wall, their faces nonjudgmental. "Force, help me." She gulped and clasped her hands together and at last confessed, “I want to fuck a priest.” 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you things were heating up <3  
> 


	8. In Memory Of

Rey’s first crush was the Son, the Dark Side incarnate. Her reasons for such a crush held no logic. Her feelings then were new, unexplored, shiny, like a dazzling jewel uncovered in an archaeological site. So intense was her crush, and so envious was she of her school companions who had first-kiss stories and readily shared them, she did the unthinkable. She stole a small statue of the Son from the small church across the asylum. And she kept it. And she kissed the statue’s lips in the dark, her lips bruising after every occasion. 

_Who’d you kiss?_ her school companions would ask. 

_I’m not telling._

The sisters were bewildered with the statue’s disappearance. They had even become superstitious. Praying to the Holy Ones for answers. Rey, of course, found the whole thing funny at first, but when she accidentally cut her bottom lip during one kissing session, all humor had gone out the window. She returned it without anyone knowing. Such a good spy she was. 

There was no sweetheart in the years that followed. No one to pass her notes with sweet nothings scribbled down on paper. No offerings of pathetic-looking flowers. No hand-holding.

And in her first year of teaching, she found a dirty magazine in the studio; that was how she had gotten the idea of painting naked sisters. And every time she touched herself and finished herself off, staring intently at one of the pictures in the magazine, she felt angry and bitter. She felt her loneliness. 

_How sad_ , she had thought in bed many nights. To want to feel, but end up numb. Because who would want her? An orphan born in a convent, raised by sisters. A girl unloved. Better to do away with her fantasies and feel less. 

But now, how she wanted someone to please her. She craved hands that weren’t her own to touch her. She longed to be held. To be fucked senseless. To make love. To be loved. To feel... _something…_

And such desires were precisely the reasons why she couldn’t take her eyes off of Father Kylo. 

_Poor, unsuspecting priest,_ she thought. _Hot fucking priest._

She couldn’t help herself. She was dirty, depraved. A pervert. A little slut whose pussy was often slick. She was human. A woman with desires. 

She smiled down at her bowl of oatmeal, and even though the dining hall was loud with the voices of the children, the schoolteachers, and the sisters, she could imagine all the naughty sayings Father Kylo would whisper in her ear, all the naughty things he would do with his hands to her body if fantasy became a reality. 

She looked up again to where he sat. Next to Sister Holdo and Sister Leia, deep in theological conversation, no doubt. He coughed into his fist, and he raised a glass of water to his lips and drank it. She licked her lips and sipped from her own glass of water. He then picked up a slice of grapefruit, bit into it. Sweet juices dripped down his chin. 

_Oh, Force_ —Rey bit her bottom lip and clamped her thighs. 

Father Kylo wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, his stubble still damp from the grapefruit juice. He laughed at something Sister Holdo said. 

Rey shut her eyes. _Damn him for not looking back._


	9. My Pleasure

The studio felt sullied somehow. As if unwelcome visitors left muddy footprints on the floor. Or if the walls had been graffitied. 

For three days now, with the curtains drawn and the door locked and mixed paint on pallets and paintbrushes in dirty water and a new icon with no face yet painted on it, Rey couldn’t focus. Couldn’t shake the feeling of loss. 

She paced before the new icon. There was no fever this time. No passion. Nothing to propel her forward, to drive her to pick up a paintbrush and paint. 

“Fucking Force Ghosts,” she hissed and lit a cigarette, and sank into a chair. She steamed with anger, stress, and sexual frustrations. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. To break things with her fists. Smash things. Destroy. To feel unbreakable and watch things break. 

Rey did none of that. 

All she did was exhale smoke. 

“They came in here and put out my fire,” she muttered, and she picked up the portfolio book of the nude sketches of the sisters off from her desk and flipped through the pages. She combed through her memories, remembering the stretch marks on each body, the scars, the moles, the curves. She remembered every body. Every face. Every sister. Remembered the glances from the canvas to the bodies, to the sisters who stared back at her. She put out her cigarette and shut the book, sighed, and returned the book back to its hiding spot. 

Her body tensed. Her mind, full of thoughts. And her heart hurt. The inner part of her restless. Reckless. 

_Then what do you want?_

She could hear _him._ His voice was clearer than her thoughts. 

_Fuck it._

She opened the closet door and stood before the long mirror, which hung there. She would often strip naked and study her body for inspiration when sketching. She rarely took the time to study her face. She looked this time. And the woman in the mirror had her face, but the woman was a stranger. 

_Then let us reacquaint ourselves._

She unbuttoned her blouse, and she unclasped her bra. Removed it without removing her blouse. She admired her nakedness. Stared at her breasts. Two halves of a grapefruit. The areolas the color of the lipstick Rey “borrowed” from Rose, a pale berry tint. She tweaked her nipples, and her nipples hardened. 

_What do you want?_

Rey slid out of her panties and lifted her skirt above her slim waist. Her hand reached between her legs. She rubbed her clit. Up and down. Slow strokes. She rocked her hips, without so much as breaking eye-contact with her reflection in the mirror. 

_Tease me,_ she thought. And she slipped a finger inside her cunt. Then another finger. 

So wet. 

_Touch me._ Rey ran her free hand across her breasts. 

Inside her belly burned a bright candle flame. So hot. Her heart raced. She panted, pushing her fingers in and out. Faster. And faster. Harder. And harder. Deeper and deeper. 

_Of, fuck. Yes. Yes. Fuck._

She gasped, her fingers soaked.

_What do you want?_

_Rey._

She threw her head back. “Fuck me, Father.” 

And she came, like melted candle wax. 

She slid to the floor and breathed heavily as if she had just run a mile barefoot. 

She reached for her pack of cigarettes and lit one, and she crushed her knees to her chest and hugged herself. “At least, no one can take away my fantasies. Those are _mine_.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments! And sorry for my chaotic posting. I don't really have a schedule, but since I'm really enjoying writing this story *whispers* I'm thinking every two days. Maybe. Don't quote me. <3  
> 


	10. Temptation in the Garden

Rey shut her eyes, but she could not shut out the noise. 

And how very loud it was in the stuffy staffroom. A symphony of cacophonous sounds. Zorii fiddled with the knob on the radio, undecided on which channel to play. Jyn Erso, who taught Chemistry, uncapped her pen and capped it and crossed out mistakes on her students’ tests. Jocasta Nu, the librarian and Literature instructor, cooled herself with a fan. The gym instructor Mon Mothma opened up the windows to let in the autumn breeze. Rose sighed as she moved on to the next stack of papers she needed to grade. Father Kylo unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up the sleeves of his neatly pressed buttoned-down black shirt and pressed two fingers against the white clerical collar to remind himself it was there. And although he made no real obnoxious noise, Father Kylo was loud, in the sense of the way his body moved in the armchair like a mountain inching a bit across the land. The way he scratched his chin. Or the way sweat dripped down his forehead. The way he tapped his fingers against his massive thigh.

And then there was Old Man Luke, snoring loudly. He had seated himself at the far end of the long wooden table. Unmarked papers set before him. His head lolled to the side. Mouth agape. Hands clasped on top of his round belly. 

Rey opened her eyes and said, “I’m going to prison.” 

“I have not the bail money to ever get you out.” Rose didn’t lift her eyes from the stack of papers she was grading. “And whatever for?” 

“Murder.” 

“Who are you murdering?”

“Have yourself a guess.”

Rose lightly kicked Rey’s leg underneath the table. “Leave Old Man Luke be.” 

“I can’t hear myself think with all this snoring.” 

“You think?”

It was Rey’s turn to kick Rose underneath the table.

“Ow,” Rose said dryly. “You know, I always wagered if you happened to murder someone, you would murder Sister Leia.” 

“What an odd thing to say.” Rey reached for her lighter and pack of cigarettes. “How?”

“How what?”

“How would I go about the murder?” 

“Poison in the tea.” 

“Too simple.” 

“Fine. What method would _you_ use?” 

“Something more dramatic, I would think. More personal.” 

Zorii huffed and placed her hands on her hips like a scolding mother. “You shouldn’t be talking of murder so nonchalantly, especially in the presence of Father Kylo.” 

“What is an appropriate subject for conversation then, Zorii?” Rey said. “But speak it loudly. I can't hear.” 

Zorii rolled her eyes. “Sister Leia is a well-respected member of our community.”

“Clearly, you weren’t raised by sisters.” 

“No, I wasn’t, Rey. But your hate is unsettling.” 

“I don’t hate.”

Zorii settled in a chair by the fireplace. “What you must think of us, Father.” 

Father Kylo cleared his throat. “I think not much of it.” 

“All the wiser,” Zorii said. “Don’t think too critically of our Rey. She and Sister Leia have a peculiar history.” 

Rey’s blood boiled. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” 

Zorii, scandalized by the indifference to cussing in front of a priest, gasped, “Rey!” 

“Zorii.” 

_Crash!_

Old Man Luke startled awake. “What? What’s going on?”

It didn't take Rey long to figure the deus ex-machina in the guise of a thick book ‘accidentally’ falling was machinated by Rose. 

“Oops,” Rose said. 

_Oops, indeed._

* * *

Rey wandered aimlessly through the garden after her morning class, a cigarette in hand, an ashtray in the other, Zorii’s words from the other day still rattling in her skull like dice. _I’ll like to poison her cup of tea,_ she thought. _Watch her drink it and smile._

_Fuck me._

She leaned against a tree and sighed. There _was_ truth to Zorii's words. About her and Sister Leia. But did she harbor hate? Of course, she didn't. She was angry. At Sister Leia. At her parents. At the world. At herself. And anger bloomed between her breasts as flowers do in spring, and unfurled roots curled around her mind, smothering her thoughts, turning her thoughts into doubts, into pain. Unnecessary pain. It would do her good not to think, not to feel, not to—

 _Fucking Force._

Father Kylo was sitting on a stone bench, underneath the canopy of the plane trees. He was a rare sight amid the wilting heart-shaped dicentras, dressed all in black, struggling to light a match, a cigarette dangling from his bottom lip. He let slip a cuss word—“Fuck.” Delicious, coming from his mouth. 

Rey shivered. 

Father Kylo stilled, eyeing the soft shadow spreading across the earth. He looked up. “Rey.” He stared at her, and she stared back. “Have you a light?” he finally asked. 

Rey handed him her lighter. “No dress today, Father?” 

He smirked. “No dress today, I’m afraid.” 

Rey leaned her shoulder against a random tree and scratched the bark with her fingernails. _This is my punishment, isn’t it?_ she thought. _The forbidden fruit. Marvel. Desire. But do not taste._

“Thank you,” he said, handing back her lighter. 

She took it, and it suddenly weighed heavily in her palm like a large rock, a dirty sin of pleasure. Would everything he touched ignite a fire within her? She took a drag of her cigarette. _Fuck._

She cleared her throat. “What are you reading?” 

“The Sacred Text.” 

“Ah, so light reading.” 

He laughed. “Something like that.” 

“I should...I should probably apologize.” 

“Apologize for what?” 

“About the other day. Openly discussing hypothetical murder. Very un-Force of me, isn’t it?” 

Father Kylo got to his feet and joined Rey by the tree. “In truth, I was quite entertained.” He exhaled, smoke puffing out of his nostrils like a furious bull.

How Rey thought to ride him that instant…

“Is there bad blood between you and Sister Leia?” 

And Rey was brought back from the fancy fantasy of bull riding a man the size of a bison. “Um..." _Fuck._ "I wouldn’t say bad blood.” 

“Then what would you call it? Miss Bliss was quite direct on your relationship with the Mother Superior.” 

“Miss Bliss is a busybody who should mind her own business.” 

Father Kylo didn’t say anything in turn. He recognized anger when he saw it, and he recognized _her_ anger. He waited.

Rey scowled. “I would call it mutual disdain.” 

“Why?”

“Why must you know?” 

“I’m curious.” 

“Curiosity killed the cat, Father.” 

Father Kylo leaned in close. “Satisfaction brought it back, Rey.” 

Rey’s anger cooled. _Just take my fucking panties, priest. Take me here on the grass. Take me hard...The fucking bastard…_

She slowly breathed out. “Well, in that case, I’ll tell you one of my stories. I was seven years old, and one night, I woke up. It was past midnight. And children were not supposed to be awake past midnight.” 

“An unruly child, were you?” 

“Yes, I was. So, I woke, and I crept down to the kitchen. Quietly now because Sister Leia of all the sisters had the ears of a hawk—still does. Once I was in the kitchen, I went to work, searching for the cookies Cook had baked during the day.” 

“Did you find the cookies?” 

Rey laughed. “Of course, I did. I found the cookies and ate them. I ate them all. I was hungry.” 

It was Father Kylo’s turn to laugh. “Poor little Rey was hungry.” 

“I am always _hungry_.” 

Father Kylo’s right eye twitched. “And then what happened?” 

“I was found out, and Sister Leia personally punished me.” 

“What was your punishment?” 

“I was dragged to the dungeon.” 

“The dungeon?”

“The cellar at the asylum. We kids called it that.”

Father Kylo stuck the Sacred Text under his arm, reached for Rey’s ashtray, and stubbed out his cigarette, all with a quizzical look on his face. “So, if I’m to understand, your feelings towards Sister Leia stems from literally getting caught in the cookie jar.” 

“I told you _a_ story. Not my entire life.” 

“Regardless, I am hooked, but I won’t have your entire life told in one sitting. I am not greedy.” 

Rey looked down and noticed their shadows touching, making love in the grass. She smiled. “Well, _I'm_ hungry. And it’s probably lunchtime.” 

“Then, have a good rest of your afternoon.” 

Rey could not hide the disappointment in her voice. “Won’t you join me, Father?” 

“No, I have much to do. I’ll probably have lunch in my room.” _Ah, yes._ He lived with Old Man Luke in a small building that used to be a stable not far from the asylum.

What a pity? 

"Well, then. I'll see you around." And Rey watched him go, his shadow leaving hers. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst? Check. Hot Father Kylo? Double check. Horny Rey? Hell, yes. Writing horny Rey gives me so much joy in a time where the world is literally a dumpster fire.  
> 


	11. Eat Cake

Rey very much liked cake. It was one of the few things she truly missed during the war when sweet things were scarce, and the fear of death, lurking in every corner, was palpable. It certainly didn’t matter what kind—vanilla, chocolate, marble— as long as there was icing. 

Force, she _liked_ cake. 

_As much as I like cock_ , she mused. _More satisfying than sex even,_ considering the lack of talent the men she had sex with showed at the time of each unsatisfactory performance. _Cake is good….Cake would taste better if Father Kylo fed it to me._ Her lips quirked into a grin. _Fucking priest._ A shame he was nowhere to be found among the crowd of rowdy children and chatty sisters. 

Rose, attuned to her friend’s sudden shift to a more cheerful mood, raised an eyebrow, a bit confused. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m peachy.” 

“ _Peachy_? Why are you so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?” 

Rey shrugged. “Just am. I mean, you and I are here, very much alive, and we’re about to eat cake.” 

“ _Zorii’s_ birthday cake.” 

“So? It’s still cake, isn’t it? And I don’t hate Zorii if that’s what you’re implying. Does she make me want to tear my hair out and scream? Of course. Does she make me want to kick her perfectly shaped arse? Absolutely. But she’s a good person. A good friend.” 

Rose narrowed her eyes. “Alright. Who is _he_?” 

“What?” 

“What’s his name?”

“Pardon?”

“Who’s the man you fancy?” 

“I fancy no one.” 

“You lying Janus-faced gorgon. Who is he?” 

“No need for the name-calling, you mean harpy.” 

Rose waited. 

“Stop looking at me like that. There’s nothing to tell when no such man exists.” 

Rose waited some more. 

“You’re relentless,” Rey grumbled, and she grabbed Rose’s wrist, pulling her toward a corner of the dining hall, where no one could eavesdrop, and she whispered, “The priest.”

Rose’s eyebrows furrowed. “The priest?” she repeated. 

Rey shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Father Kylo.” 

“You like Father Kylo?” Rose hissed. 

“Yes.” 

“What?” 

“I want to fuck him, too.” 

“ _What?_ ”

“I know.” 

“ _What?_ ” Rose blinked. “Is this like wanting to fuck the Force?” 

“What?”

“Like a spiritual fuckery?”

Rey pondered this. “I...I don’t think that’s possible.” 

“There was once a sister who claimed she fucked the Force.” 

“Really?”

“No one believed her, of course.” 

Rey bumped her forehead against the wall and groaned. “Am I a bad person for wanting to fuck a priest?” 

“No, you’re not a bad person,” Rose said. “You are a good person. The very best person I know.” 

“But, I want to fuck a priest.” 

“You wanting to bed a priest is a fantasy. Your fantasy. Nothing wrong with that.” 

“A delicious fantasy, it is.” 

“I don’t need the details.” 

“I was perfectly fine before he showed up. _Fucking priest_.” 

“Why him, Rey?” 

“I don’t know. I guess…I don’t know. I’m drawn to the bastard.” 

And before the conversation could keep alive, Sister Kaydel arrived carrying a birthday cake from the kitchen. She slowly made her way down the aisle between the two wooden tables, the crowd parting to let her through, to where Zorii sat at another, who blushed, extremely pleased. Sister Jannah made her way alongside Sister Kaydel, and she started to sing _Happy Birthday,_ a choppy rendition when all the others joined in. 

Rey didn’t sing along. She hadn’t the heart. 

She stood, quite apart from the crowd, with her own fragile dreams balanced in her palms.

“Make a wish, Zorii,” someone shouted. 

Zorii, smiling, shut her eyes. 

How wishes were often wasted. 

How dreams became worm-eaten and maggoty from regrets and doubts. 

Rey balled her hands into fists, her dreams safe. Her dreams of the island. Of her faceless mother, of the icons, of the lovely little house by the sea. A family. A belonging. Her dream to love and be loved. 

She wished for her dreams to come true. She wished—

Father Kylo appeared, at last, and took his place next to Sister Leia. 

_I wish not to be alone._

Zorii blew out the candles. 

  
  



	12. Brawl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Bar brawl, so there will be a bit of violence in this chapter.

Canto Bar welcomed the drunks and the lonely people and Old Man Luke, who was already drunk. And asleep. Slumped over the bar counter, his glass half-full, peanut shells crushed underneath his hand. And Zorii, who followed her bliss to the jukebox. Undecided in what to play. Jyn, Jocasta, and Mon, who were gathered around the pool table, cackling with laughter like a trio of witches. And Rose and Finn, who slow-danced, unabashedly feeling each other up. And Rey, who sat in the booth in the back. She folded her arms on top of the tabletop, watching with fascination water the shape of a teardrop sliding down her beer bottle. 

_I won’t cry in a fucking bar. I won’t…_

Laughter cut short her not-so-nice thoughts, and Rose and Finn slid into the booth, both breathless.

“You lovebirds make me sick,” Rey said, her lips twitching into a small smile. 

Rose playfully threw a crumpled-up napkin at her. “Hush up, you shrew.” 

“Aw, what’s the matter, Rey?” Finn said. “Ever since we got here, you’ve been melancholic?”

“Bars make me sad.”

“What can we do to cheer you up?” 

Rey reached for her pack of cigarettes. “Love each other unconditionally.” 

“That we can do.” Finn tilted Rose’s chin toward him and kissed her lips. 

The kiss was a promise. Sweet. And short. Terribly short. 

When it ended, Rose licked her lips. “Yes,” she agreed. “Without a doubt.” 

Suddenly, Finn thumped his fist against the table. “I’ll get us more drunks. How about it?”

“Hear, hear,” Rey said, raising her beer in the air. 

“That’s the spirit.” Finn got to his feet and headed over to the bar.

The blush on Rose’s cheeks deepened. She helped herself to Rey’s beer, taking a bold swing. “Force, help me.” 

Rey chuckled. “The bathroom has a lock, you know?” 

“I will not have sex in the bathroom.” 

“You have fuck-me-eyes.” 

Rose readied to counter, but the words disappeared. And her mouth dropped. Her eyes widened. “Oh, _Force, help us.”_

“What?” 

“Father Kylo.” 

“Father Kylo?” 

_In a fucking bar?_

Rey looked. Oh, it most certainly was him. Tall and brooding. A presence like no other. A bit dejected, though. Face strained. Eyes chaotically dark. He motioned the bartender for a drink. 

_Fucking priest._

“Behave yourself.” 

Rey rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to hump his leg like a dog, Rose.” 

“Leave you alone with him, and you just might.” 

Father Kylo downed a shot of vodka and ordered another. 

“Looks like your priest isn’t doing so well,” Rose noted. 

And as orchestrated by fate herself, he spotted them, and it took all of Rey’s strength not to run away when he neared their table. 

“Evening,” he said. 

“Evening, Father,” Rose greeted back. 

“May I sit?” 

“You may, Father.” Rose scooted next to Rey and cleared her throat. “What brings you to such a place of vice?” 

“I was called to the Hutt’s house. Elder Jabba has not long before he becomes one with the Force.” 

“That’s unfortunate.” 

Finn made his way back to the table and handed out the drinks to Rey and Rose. “We have a new friend, I see.” 

“Finn, this is Father Kylo. Father, this is Finn.”

“Nice to meet you,” Father Kylo said. 

“As am I.” 

The night then became a blur. Drinking and dancing and smoking and laughter blending like paint on a canvas. Seamless, like a dream one cannot entirely remember when awakened. Snippets of scenes. Nothing was really solid. 

But Rey reached out often, to curl her fingers around something real, something, anything to keep her tethered to the ground…

Father Kylo watched Finn and Rose making off to the dance-floor, tapping his knuckle against the tabletop. “You are so quiet tonight,” he said, and he turned to face Rey. 

_Fuck me, and I’ll make all the noise you like._ “I’m...I’m thinking.” 

“About?” He raised his glass of whiskey to his full lips. 

“Celibacy.” 

He almost spurted out his drink. “Celibacy?” 

“I’m a wee bit curious. Is it true? Do you not...you know... _Ever_?” 

Father Kylo frowned at his empty glass. “Attachments are forbidden.” 

“Sexual attachments?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you allowed to wank then?” 

Father Kylo’s face reddened. “Aren’t you straightforward?”

“I’m curious.” 

“Curiosity killed the cat, Rey.” 

Rey leaned forward. “Satisfaction brought it back, Father,” she said, her voice suddenly husky. 

Father Kylo smirked and pinched the skin between her thumb and pointer finger. “Fucking brat,” he muttered. 

So transfixed were they both, they heeded not the brewing tension over at the bar where a drunkard and his goons had circled Old Man Luke, Rose, and Finn. Not until a bottle was smashed against the bar counter, shards of glass scattered on the floor like tiny islands, did the illusion of intimacy break. 

Rey blinked. “Oh, fuck,” she hissed and climbed out of the booth. 

“Listen, pal, we’re going home. We’re not looking for trouble,” Finn tried to reason. 

“I’ll decide that,” the drunkard slurred. “That old bag elbowed me. He’s looking for a fight.” 

Old Man Luke hiccuped. “Who? _Me_?” 

“I’m gonna give you a fight, old man. A fight you won’t forget.” 

Rey thought better not to get involved, but she rarely listened to her own advice. “Come down, boys,” she said, hands raised in peace. “We’ve all had a night, didn’t we? No need to end it so inimically.”

“Step aside, girlie.” 

“I think not, sir.” 

“Rey,” Rose warned. 

And then it happened. 

Rey wasn’t quite sure who made the first move. If Old Man Luke stepped off his stool. Or if the drunken brute stepped forward. But a punch was thrown. And it met Rey’s face. With such force, she was sure her head had cracked like an egg. Someone even screamed. Whiskey was thrown, and chairs were knocked over. Arms flailed about. She sank to the floor and saw red and tasted copper in her mouth. 

“Rey? Rey, are you okay?” 

Was it the Holy Ones coming to collect her? 

“Rey?” 

Rey opened her eyes, the room spinning. 

“Stop spinning,” she mumbled. 

Nothing had made sense. Rose was moving her mouth. Yet, no sound came out. She heard a voice, but it was a faraway voice. Not Rose's. And the drunkard was sprawled on the floor, flat on his back, and someone was on top of him. Someone large. She could hear the violence. A bruised fist pounding flesh. Over and over again. 

And then the violence was over. And a beautiful, sweaty face appeared before Rey, eyes full of concern. Gentle hands gingerly cupped her face like she was the most precious thing in the world. 

“Rey?” Father Kylo stroked her cheek with his thumb. 

Rey smiled. “That’s nice." 

“Are you alright?” he said softly. 

_Am I alright?_ Hair damped from whiskey, and her nose and mouth bloodied...She began to laugh. 

“Have you finally gone around the bend, Rey?” Rose worried. 

“Might be a concussion,” Finn said. 

“You’re the doctor. Do something.” 

Finn stepped forward. “Rey?” 

Rey couldn’t stop laughing. 

Zorii bit her lower lip. “She’s in shock.” 

“Rey?” Father Kylo said. 

His voice, so calming, so deep. 

Rey leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Father Kylo’s chin. Her laughter ceased. 

Father Kylo glanced up at Rose and Finn for answers; they had none. He sighed and wrapped his arms around her. “You’ll be my undoing,” he whispered into her hair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my late posting. Life got in the way lol.  
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed these two chapters!  
> 


	13. Ghosts

Time passed slowly in Sister Leia’s office. Molasses-slow. Turtle-in-a-race-against-the-hare-slow. But time was also loud, the antique grandfather clock in the corner ticking, the pendulum inside it swinging, the ceiling fan swooshing. Rey couldn’t think properly. Had she been there for a few seconds? Minutes? Hours? Days? There was no sense of time, but  _ here and now.  _ And sitting in an armchair across from the stony-faced and stiff-lipped Mother Superior, smoking her second cigarette, Rey wasn’t so sure. 

_ I’m tired,  _ she thought. She could fall asleep in that armchair for years, and she wouldn’t mind it. Just sleep and sleep and sleep—

Sister Leia placed her cup of hot coffee precisely in front of her, methodically ripped a pack of sugar, and poured it, twirling the content with a spoon. Like a machine. Without feeling. 

_ Does she even fucking feel?  _

“Inappropriate conduct is not tolerated here,” Sister Leia finally said, zeroing in on the black-blue and yellow bruise that had blossomed overnight on Rey’s cheek. 

“Technically, I wasn’t on the grounds.” Rey turned the bruised side of her face away from Sister Leia. “We were at a bar in the village. I wasn’t drunk. Well, I had something to drink. But I didn’t stir up trouble on purpose. The man who hit me was drunk, and he hadn’t me in mind when he threw the punch. He wanted to hit Mr. Skywalker. I was in the way.” 

“Does not matter. You are a reflection of Amidala Asylum and Academy. You are a reflection of  _ me.”  _

Rey dug her fingernails into the leather armrests. “We look nothing alike, Sister.” 

Sister Leia placed the spoon down neatly on the napkin beside her cup of coffee. Like a judge and their gavel. “Make as many jokes as you like, Rey. When will you learn the world is not your playground? It is harsh and cruel and unkind. And I think you already know this. I think you know the world is harsh and cruel and unkind.” 

“Should I get on my knees and kiss your feet?” Rey said. “Do you own me? Am I not allowed to be  _ me. Just Rey.  _ Am I not allowed to fuck up?” 

Sister Leia shook her head. “You are a child in grown-up clothes, safe and sound in your studio. Grow up. If not, the harsh and cruel and unkind world will eat you up.” 

Rey got to her feet. “Give me the name of my mother, and you will see me gone quicker than you can recite the Jedi Code.” 

She surprised herself. The very idea of her  _ mother  _ had been safely tucked away in a dark corner of her mind. She dared not go there ever, afraid to suddenly feel all the anger and bitterness and pain she had so desperately tried to bury. But somewhere, in the deepest, most secret part of herself, she needed to know, wanted to know. And she now demanded it. 

Sister Leia refused. “That I cannot do.” 

“You accuse me of all these things. But I’m here because you keep me here.” She placed her palms flat on Sister Leia’s desk and leaned forward, anger boiling inside her like a pot of water over a stove. “You want me here. To control me. To keep secret my mother’s name because you can. You warn me the world will eat me, but the world has already eaten your cold, black heart. You don’t even know it.” 

Sister Leia’s face was expressionless. She simply nodded once. “It was never me versus you, Rey.” 

“There was never a  _ me and you _ .” 

Rey stormed out of the office. Already tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill. 

_ I’m so...mad….so alone….so tired.  _

“Rey?”

She hadn’t noticed the large man in black emerge from a classroom. He had seen her. And he approached her, walking in such long strides that he miraculously stood in front of her. 

_ Don’t let him see me cry.  _

“Are you alright?” 

“Hello, Father.” Rey feigned a smile. 

Father Kylo’s eyebrows furrowed. “How’s your face?” He tentatively touched her bruise as if thumbing the petal of a flower. “Does it still hurt?”

Rey gulped. “No. How’s your hand?” 

He flexed his swollen hand and smiled. “Hurts a little.” 

“You shouldn’t have done that. Hit the man.” 

“He hit  _ you _ .” 

“It was an accident.” 

Father Kylo pressed the thin books he carried with him against his chest. “Was I to let the world hurt my dear friend Rey?”

She shut her eyes.  _ I don’t want to be your friend.  _

“Rey?” 

“The world’s not hurting me,” she whispered. 

“Then what is?” he whispered back. 

_ I’m still orphan Rey with silly dreams and a collection of nude drawings and paintings and far-fetched fantasies and a faceless, nameless mother.  _

“I’m...I’m just so very tired.” 

“Then come with me.” 


	14. The Silence We Share

Rey would’ve gone to hell and back if Father Kylo had said so, followed him anywhere. She felt at times as if she were under a spell. His spell. Enchanted to want nothing more than taste him with her tongue. 

_ I shouldn’t want this. Him _ . 

But she did want him, all of him, and she followed anyway. 

Not blindly, of course. 

“Where are you taking me?” 

“You’ll see.” 

“Not very assuring, Father.” 

“Come along,” he said, and he led the way through the dense thicket. 

“You won’t murder me and bury me in these woods, will you, Father?” Rey teased. 

Father Kylo snorted. “You say the oddest things.” 

“Rose says I have no filter.” 

“Miss Tico is correct.” 

“As opposed to you, who keeps his thoughts guarded?” 

He raised an eyebrow at her when he looked back over his shoulder. “And how do you know what I’m like?” 

Rey bent down and picked up a skinny stick. “Will you  _ tell _ me how you really are?” 

Mischief glinted in his eyes. “Probably not.” 

“Then, leave me be with my on-the-nail assumptions.” 

He stopped and stared, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“What?” she asked. Father Kylo didn’t respond right away, which sowed the seeds of unease. She waved the stick in his face. “What is it?” 

“You’re smiling.” 

“Is that not allowed?” 

“You have a lovely smile,” he said, and he turned back around and continued down the path as if he hadn’t said anything at all.

But he did say it. And Rey’s heart fluttered.  _ Fucking priest.  _

* * *

“Here we are.” 

_ Here  _ was the abandoned church that had once served its function a long time ago, but no longer was a safe place for worship and therefore forgotten. It was quite the ruins one would find deep in the woods. Its white paint had peeled, overcome by moss, and half its roof had partially collapsed. Its one stained-glass window was broken. 

It was a broken place. 

Rey followed Father Kylo inside. Strips of sunlight shone down from the massive hole in the roof, lighting the chipped wooden pews and the dusty candle-holder stands and the candle-stick stumps. 

They slid into the front pew and sat there together. In the silence that felt sacred. 

“Why here?” Rey whispered. 

“It’s quiet here. I can think.” 

“You can’t think elsewhere?” 

“Sometimes, other people’s voices are louder than your own. Their thoughts become tangled with yours. I like to sit here and decide for myself what is theirs. What is  _ mine _ .” 

“How did you even find this place?” 

“Back when I first started teaching. I had gone for a walk, and I had gotten lost. But then I found this little church.”

“Divine intervention?” 

“Certainly could have been.” 

“I hope you don’t mind me asking—” 

“Oh, boy.” 

She lightly smacked his arm. 

“Ow,” he said dryly. 

“Are you really a priest?” 

“Yes,” he laughed. “I am.” 

“Did you always want to be?” 

“No. I actually wanted to be a pilot.” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“I don’t know. Dreams often remain as dreams, don’t they? And you don’t really realize it. How your life is set on a certain course. There’s nothing you can really do. Not at the moment. You can’t recognize the weight of it. And so one thing leads to another.” 

“That’s life, I’m afraid.” 

“Why did you become an icon painter?” 

Rey retrieved her lighter and pack of cigarettes from her pocket. “I…,” she sighed. “Growing up, I felt like there was something wrong with me. That something inside me had always been there. Something broken.” She lit a cigarette. “I thought I would never feel whole. I was afraid. But art was the one thing I was good at, and there’s something sacred about painting icons because you are essentially painting the Holy Ones, saintly figures. You’re painting perfection. So, I suppose the reason I became an icon painter was because of the little time between what is and what could be. I could be something, somebody not broken, but sacred, too.” 

“Do you still feel broken?” 

“All the time.” 

“If only you could see how I see you.” 

“What do you see, Father?” 

“Everything,” he breathed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rey's catchphrase is Fucking priest. I don't make up the rules...


	15. Dirty Book

Rey grew fond of her talks with Father Kylo. In fact, made it a habitual thing, a ritual after their classes, where she would knock on his office door with the offering of a whiskey bottle she made sure no one saw, and he would let her in, a plate of chocolate chip cookies waiting for her on his desk. 

“You’re late,” he told her when he opened the door, a smile on his beautiful face. 

_ I want to sit on that beautiful fucking face… _

She cleared her throat. “You’re early.” 

He stepped aside, and she entered, handing him the whiskey. 

“I’m parched, Father.” 

He shook his head and poured her a drink. He offered it to her. 

“It’s a miracle,” she said, delighted, and drank. 

“How was your day?” 

“Like any other,” she said. She leaned back into her chair. “I have a question.” 

“Force, help me.” 

“Where did you get that scar?” 

“This one?” he asked, running his long, thick figure down the side of his face. 

“The one and only.” 

“From war.” 

“You were in the war?” 

“Yes. I was young and stupid. Cost me fucking everything.” He sat across from her, their knees touching. 

“What do you mean?” 

“My father didn’t want me to go. He said,  _ War is just a chess game played by the fuckers who profit from it. Let them wage their war _ . But I was too stubborn to listen, and I enlisted. Five months into it all, I learned my father enlisted, as well.” Father Kylo stared into his glass of whiskey as if staring into a dark abyss. “My father was never a wordsmith, but he wrote me a letter, explaining why he did what he did. And the very last line he wrote said,  _ We’re in this together then, kid.”  _ His eyes watered. “Five months later, he went missing-in-action. He was last seen at the Battle of Jakku.” He shook his head. “I went looking for him after the war...He was gone.” 

“He wanted to keep you safe.” 

“He was an idiot.” He threw his head back and stared up at the ceiling, his fingers gripping the top of his glass, his thighs spread out. 

The view was quite lovely. She wanted to sit on his lap and touch his face and comfort him, make the pain he must feel less...

“How did you become a priest?” 

“Archbishop Snoke found me. Taught me everything I know.” 

Rey frowned. “But...it wasn’t what you wanted.” 

“My wants don’t matter, especially after I fucked up.” 

“I call bullshit.” 

“Call it what you like, it is the truth.” 

“No, you’re just afraid to forgive yourself.” 

Father Kylo rested his elbow on the armrest and his chin on his fist and looked at her. “And what about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“What’s your tale of tragedy?” 

“I have none.” 

“I call bullshit.” 

“What’s there to tell? I was born here. I was raised here. And I work here.” 

“Your family?” 

It was Rey’s turn to stare into her glass. “My mother was what you call a ‘fallen’ woman. She came here, gave birth to me, and became a sister.” She dug her fingernails into her palms. “The sisters raised me until I was grown enough, not knowing who my mother was. I spent most of my childhood wondering which sister was my mother. If she was even still here. If she died. We had quite a few deaths in the past years. If she left. Then I realized it didn’t matter because if she loved me, she would’ve revealed herself to me.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Rey offered him a small smile. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“It does matter.” 

“Then your wants matter.” 

He blushed, bringing his second round of whiskey to his lips. 

Fire burned inside her belly. She leaned forward. “Have you ever bed a woman?” 

He choked, whiskey spilling onto his neatly pressed black shirt. “Fucking Force,” he muttered and got to his feet. 

“Did I say something?” she asked  _ innocently _ . 

He began to unbutton his shirt. “Such a brat.” And he ventured into his closet. 

Rey got to her feet and stretched and looked around, her eyes committing his office to memory. It wasn’t the first time she had done so. Taking stock of his things. She was mesmerized by him. She wanted to know everything about him. If he had any plants to nourish. He did—he had an Easter cactus. If he had any artwork on the walls—He had  _ Saturn Devouring His Son.  _ What books he read? Sacred texts, of course—

Her eyebrows furrowed as she picked up a small notebook that had been partially hidden beneath a pile of papers on his desk. She looked inside. Her eyes widened. 

“We need to have some rules.” Father Kylo re-entered his office.

Rey quickly hid the book behind her back. “Rules?” 

“About questions being asked that concern sex.”

“You’re no fun, Father.” 

“I’m also running out of clean shirts to wear.” 

“Sounds like a  _ you _ problem.” 

“Then I’ll have to start wearing the dress again.” 

She scrunched up her nose. “Not the dress.” 

“Yes, I’m afraid.” 

The telephone rang. 

They both stared at it, as if caught in an intimate act. 

“I should get that.” 

“Then, I best leave you to it, Father.” 

“Rey.” 

He said her name like a goodbye. 

* * *

Rey ran to her room, locked her door, and leaned against it as she began to read the book she ‘borrowed’ from Father Kylo’s office. 

_ Ben Solo printed on the inside. _

She couldn’t quite believe what she was reading. It wasn’t a diary that chronicled his every thought or poetry about nature or religion. It was a collection of short stories, written in his handwriting. Stories of sexual desires. Erotica. Of primal fucking. Of pearl-breasted women cumming. Of a dinner hostess hiding underneath the dining table during a grand feast, sucking the cocks of her male guests. Of a man ridden with desire fucking a statue to life….Dirty words strung together, making her  _ feel… _

_ Oh, Force.  _

She felt a pulse between her thighs. A heat. A wetness. 

She shut her eyes and imagined Father Kylo on his knees before her. 

_ What do you want? _

_ Lick me.  _

And she buried her fingers inside her. In and out, quickening her pace. 

_ Is this what you want? Do you want me to taste you, Rey? _

_ Yes. Taste me, Father. Yes... _

And she rubbed her clit harder and faster…

She cried out as she came. 

* * *

At breakfast, Father Kylo was quiet. Concern in his eyes. Lost in thought. His plate of scrambled eggs and bacon left untouched. 

Rey knew the reason. And although a tiny part of her felt bad for causing him such stress, she reveled in the fact that the good priest was naughty. That he was a man after all. A man with wants. With needs. Desires. 

She tore at her bacon with her teeth, smiling. 

_ Fucking priest.  _


	16. Exchange of Secrets

The lights flickered on and off in the studio. 

_ Is the power to go out then?  _ she thought, and a clap of thunder answered. She sighed. 

A storm outside had brewed into the evening, violent winds pushing against the building like bodies pressed against each other in bed, heavy rain relentlessly thrashed, and thunder woke the whole world up. 

Rey brought out the few candlestick holders and candles from the closet and lit them, and she sat in the chaise lounge and crushed her knees to her chest. She waited for the darkness to come. 

It didn’t right away. 

Instead, there came a rapid knocking. Rey scrambled to her feet and opened the door to the studio. It was Father Kylo.

“Father?” 

He was drenched, his wet hair plastered to his forehead, raindrops dripping from his lips, his chin. He stepped inside. 

“You haven’t visited me for our talks lately.” 

“And you decided to visit me in this storm?” 

“Well, it wasn’t raining quite as hard as it is now when I first started. I did have an umbrella.” 

She smirked. “What happened to your umbrella?” 

“Flew away.” 

“Poor priest.” 

“Yes, a tragedy.” He looked pained. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Could be better.” 

“You look like a wet cat, you know.” 

“You wound me.” 

“You’ll survive.”

“Might die from a cold.” 

“I’ll get you a towel.” 

That was Rey’s first mistake, leaving the priest alone in her studio, where she hadn’t thought to put away the book of erotic stories she left recklessly on her desk, the very same book she had been rereading and playing herself to. 

When she returned with the towel, he had it in his hands, and anger flashed in his eyes. 

“Do you want to explain why you have this?” 

“I...I found it.” 

“You stole it, you mean.” 

“ _ Borrowed _ it.” 

Father Kylo ran his hand through his wet hair. “Why did you take it? Why did you keep it? Do you have any idea what was going through my mind this entire week? I thought someone had found it, and it was only a matter of days before someone reported me to Sister Leia.” 

“For what? Writing about sex. It’s not a crime.” 

“I’m a priest for fuck’s sake.” 

“I wouldn’t have reported you.” 

Father Kylo started toward the door. She blocked him. “Are you leaving?” 

“I think it would be best if I did. I don’t want to say something I’ll come to regret.” 

“Are you angry with me?” 

“Yes, Rey, I am.” 

“I didn’t mean to upset you. Your stories are beautiful. There’s no need to feel so ashamed of them.” Rey grabbed his wrist, a look of pleading in her eyes. He wrenched himself free. 

Desperate now, she went to her desk to show him her  _ secret.  _ “Look,” she said and presented him with her collection of nude paintings. “You’re not the only one debauched.” 

Father Kylo’s eye twitched. 

“Now, we both know each other’s secrets.” 

He backed her up against the wall. “What do you think you are doing?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“We’re not so different.” 

“We are, Rey.” 

“Don’t hate me.” 

“I don’t hate you.” 

Thunder rattled the pipes of the studio, and lightning flashed. The rain fell harder. 

A fleeting emotion crossed Father Kylo’s face—mischief, anger, longing...acceptance. He cocked his head to the side, and his lips curled up in a sneer. “Are you lonely, Rey?” he whispered. 

Rey’s heart pounded erratically in her chest like a bird caught in a cage. 

“All the times you wondered if I fuck or not...do you fancy me? Is that it? Did you imagine me reading my stories out loud, imagined maybe I whispered them in your ear while you fucked yourself?” 

“And not bother to fuck me yourself, Father?” 

Her second mistake of the night. She couldn’t dwell on it, though, because the power went out. 


	17. Pretend

Breathing heavily in the candle-lit room, they leaned in closer, their faces barely inches apart. 

“Is that what you want, Rey? For me to fuck you?” 

“You want to fuck me just as well, Father.” 

“You think you know what I want?” 

“I know everything I need to know about you.” 

“You do?” His lips hovered over her throat. “Ah, you do.” 

_ Fucking priest. _

“Fucking….tease,” she said shakily and kissed him, their lips finally meeting like cymbals crashing at the climax of a musical performance. 

But then Father Kylo tore away from her, stunned. And hungry. And lustful. He returned with a vengeance and grabbed her face, and he sucked her bottom lip, and then he let go of her face and gripped her hips with his trembling hands, digging his fingernails into the fabric of her dress. 

She whimpered, bringing her hands to his shoulders, then to his hair, yanking his head back. She licked his throat. A moan escaped his beautiful mouth. She wanted to bottle up the noise and keep it for herself. All to herself _ — _

She wanted him closer. And closer...She rubbed against him as she had once told Rose she wouldn’t, feeling his bulge.  _ He must be big. So fucking big. So fucking hard— _

She wanted to touch him. Wanted her hands to map out the landscape of his body. To explore every curve. To suck his cock. 

Rey lowered her hand below his belt, but Father Kylo stopped her, wrapping his fingers around her wrist. 

“We shouldn’t,” he breathed. 

“Then, let’s pretend.” She lifted her dress a bit, pulled down her panties, and stroked her clit, her eyes never leaving his. 

Lightning flashed again, and a loud rumbling followed, startling Father Kylo. He watched her move her hips. She could see she was driving him mad. 

_ Good.  _

She suddenly faced the wall, Father Kylo having turned her around. He pressed his body against her, his arms wrapped around her waist, his mouth trailing kisses up and down her neck.

“I shouldn’t want you. I shouldn’t want this.” 

“Touch yourself,” she begged, and she heard him unzip his pants. She could feel him jerking himself off behind her, feel his hips buckle. She arched her back as she dug her finger deeper inside her, and he rasped as he leaned into her, his free hand roaming up her body, over her breasts, his fingers finding her erect nipples. 

“Do you think about me when you touch yourself?” he breathed down her throat. 

“Yes,” she gasped. 

“What do I do to you?” 

“Everything. You fucking ravish me.” 

He smiled and squeezed her breast. “I think about you, too.” 

“What do you do to me?” 

“I bend you over my desk in my office and fuck you from behind. Then I have you on your knees, your dirty mouth around my cock.” 

“Yes,” she groaned. She was so close. 

“Are you ready to come?” 

“Yes.” 

She leaned her head back and turned to find his waiting mouth. Together, they came, panting, breathless, their bodies shuddering. They collapsed to the ground and held each other while the storm raged outside. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *fanning myself* My stupid horny idiots <3  
> 


	18. Bliss

Rey woke up with a smile on her face. A complete showing of sets of pearly white teeth to a fractured ceiling. 

Smiling—such an odd thing to do when the birds outside her window chirped their happy songs. She would otherwise find it annoying. And considering she was not particularly fond of mornings, where dreams immediately dimmed the moment her eyelids fluttered open, she often opted to throw rocks at the birds or shoo them away, but she did not. She stretched out like a cat. And her back cracked. Her hair disheveled like an untended haystack, her bare feet dangling from the edge of the bed, her nightgown hitched up above her waist, her bed covers flung to the floor. 

How remarkable she felt, refreshed,  _ wanted.  _

She touched her lips with her fingertips, and her smile widened. 

The priest was a good kisser, among other things. 

* * *

Rey knocked on Rose’s door. And a groggy voice answered. “Who is it?” 

“The Grim Reaper, come to collect your soul.” 

“I have no soul.” 

Rey frowned. “What did you do with it?” 

“Sold it to the Sith.” 

The door opened, and Rose shuffled back to her bed and crawled into it, covering herself from head to toe with her blanket like a cocoon, unwilling to acknowledge it was a brand new day. 

“I’m disappointed,” Rey said, shaking her head. She shut the door behind her. “Still in bed.” 

“Go away.” 

“Can’t do it.”

“Go.” 

“Can’t.” 

“But it’s Saturday.” 

“Get up! Get up!” 

Rose groaned. “Annoy your bloody priest and leave me be.” 

“My bloody priest doesn’t find me annoying.” 

_ In fact, he finds me delicious _ . 

Rey climbed onto Rose’s bed and began to jump as children do, the mattress springs squeaking. “Get up! Get up, lovely Rose!” 

Rose grumbled. “You’re mad, woman,” she said, but her words held no malice. She looked up at her friend, whose light put to shame the sun. “You are a nuisance.” And she broke out into a smile. She chucked the covers off her to the floor and joined Rey, jumping up and down. “You are a pain in the neck!” 

They laughed. And in the excitement, Rey jumped too high, and she bumped the top of her head against the ceiling. She collapsed onto the bed, and Rose crashed on top of her. They continued to laugh until their cheeks hurt. 

“I’m so happy,” Rey said. 

And it was true. 

Happiness had, at last, come to her, and she intended to keep it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Horny Rey is a happy Rey...


	19. Delights

Finishing her lunch in the studio, Rey brushed the crumbs from her skirt and picked up the paintbrush as knights in fairy tales pick up their swords. She had no aspiration to fight in shining armor, but to create and feel divine, to feel something. To feel important in a world that often overlooked her, failed to see her. To feel her power. 

And so as paint smeared across the canvas, she slipped into the cold darkness of her mind. An endless ocean, where she floated on her back and stared up at the stars. Afloat as a lily-pad. Weightless. Then the sea turned to a field of gold-colored wheat, an oak tree in the distance, her dreams dangling from its branches. She went to the tree and snatched up her dreams, and each of her dreams came true—

She put the paintbrush down and covered the new icon with a sheet. 

* * *

And not long after, a knock came at the door. 

Her heartbeat quickened. She knew it was  _ him  _ before she opened up. And because she knew it was him, she didn’t open the door right away.  _ Let him suffer a bit.  _ She let down her hair.  _ Let him long for me. Let him starve for my touch.  _ She smoothed the front of her skirt.  _ Let him wait and think of me as a sadist. _ She unclasped her bra and flung it into the closet, sure the outline of her nipples showed through the fabric of her shirt.  _ Let him beg for my body.  _

She opened the door. 

“Father,” she said. 

A half-smile tugged at the corner of his glorious lips. 

_ Fuck me. I could eat you up and still be hungry for more. _

“Rey,” he answered and stepped inside. 

But cautious were his steps. 

She noticed his uncertainty the way he stood still as a statue in the middle of the studio, at first, unsure whether to move, whether to take up her space. He looked down and crossed his arms. Then he uncrossed them. He fiddled with his ring on his finger. Then he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. Coming to life. Unsettled. Tense. 

Rey marveled at his arm muscle, his biceps which appeared ready to burst from his tight black buttoned-down dress shirt. She finally moved toward her desk, breaking the tension, permitting him to just  _ be _ with her in her holy place. 

Father Kylo sighed and moved, as well, gravitating toward the other side of the room, where the icons on the walls hung, far away as possible from where they had touched themselves the other night. 

He studied the icons as he had done the morning she first met him and shook his hand. He wasn’t really looking. But he couldn’t look at her. Not yet. Afraid she would disappear, as all good things in his life had. 

His eyebrows furrowed. Perhaps deep in thought. He looked down and picked up the sheer veil he found off the floor, and he began folding it. 

Rey smiled. “You look like a man on a mission.” 

“Hmm.” 

She laughed and retrieved her pack of cigarettes and lighter from inside her sweater, which she had flung carelessly across her chair. “Priest,” she said, hopping onto her desk. “Your mind is elsewhere.”

“I’m thinking.” 

“Care to share.” 

“No.” 

Rey scowled and lit her cigarette. “So secretive.” 

“You wouldn’t think me a good man if you knew what I thought.” 

“I never said you were a good man to begin with.” 

Father Kylo frowned. “I’m not a good man.” 

She didn’t care. “Are your thoughts dirty?” 

“Yes,” he admitted. 

“Are your dirty thoughts about me?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, then.” Rey crossed her legs, her cunt throbbing. “What do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” 

“It seems I had forgotten to take with me the book the other night.” 

“Distracted, were you?” 

His eyes turned dark, chaotic.  _ What dirty thoughts he must be thinking now— _ Suddenly, the fabric in his hands ripped. 

His eyes widened, and his cheeks reddened. “I’m...I’m sorry.” 

_ The strength of a bison…. _

She didn’t give a damn about the veil. She didn’t give a damn about anything. 

She only cared about this moment. 

She crushed her cigarette into the ashtray. “You seem distracted now, priest.” 

Father Kylo ran his hand over his face. “The book, Rey.” 

Rey, grinning, reached back and tugged open a drawer. She reached inside and found the book, and she dropped it on the tabletop. “Come and get it.” 

“What?” 

“I said,  _ Come and get it _ , Father.” 

Father Kylo growled and advanced upon her. 

_ The charge of a frenzied bull…. _

She spread her legs for him, and he stood between them. He stared at her as his large hands slipped underneath her skirt and gripped the inside of her thighs.

“So unafraid,” he murmured. 

“I’m always afraid.” 

“You don’t show it.” 

Rey moved her hands up his forearms. “You didn’t come here for the book, Father,” she whispered. 

His fingernails dug into her flesh. 

“Did you come here to fuck me?” 

Father Kylo blinked. “No......we can’t…It’s wrong.” 

“You say this with your hands up my skirt.” 

“This  _ is _ wrong.” 

“It felt good. The other night. It felt so good.” 

He shut his eyes and exhaled. “It did.” 

Rey slipped her hand underneath her wrinkled skirt and guided him toward her wet cunt, pushing aside her panties. “It  _ feels _ good.” 

“Yes,” he moaned. 

“See what you do to me, priest.” 

Father Kylo opened his eyes, and she saw the fire in them. The kind of fire that rages in furnaces and makes the bodies near it all sweaty and grimy. 

He grabbed her hand and pressed it against his erection. “See what  _ you _ do to me.” And he kissed her. Hard. Tasting her as if she was the ripe forbidden fruit plucked from an old tree of knowledge, and in a way, she was. Sweet and sinful. 

And  _ so good. _

She was so good for him, how she writhed and squirmed as he slid his finger up and down her slit. 

“You’ve done this before?” she gasped against his lips, unzipping the front of his pants, freeing his cock. 

“No,” he grunted and thrust two fingers inside her. 

Rey gasped. “No?” 

“In the war...Brothels….I would watch...” 

“A fucking peeping Tom.” She smiled, stroking him slowly. “You’re...you’re a voyeur.” 

He reached inside her shirt and pinched her nipple. “Grab harder. I’m not a fucking flower.” 

Rey licked her lips and used both her hands, moving up and down his shaft. “Feels good?” 

“Yeah. Feels real good.” He shoved another finger inside her and rubbed her clit with his thumb. “So good.” 

“Mmmm.” Rey closed her eyes, tensing. 

She pumped him as he built her up, moving her hips to match his rhythm. She arched her back. He grabbed her breast. “More,” he moaned. “More.” The two of them caught in the strange little dance of desire. 

_ So wet….so close… _ Rey cried out and came first, shuddering, pleasure rolling off her body. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his chest, and continued touching him.

“You make such pretty noises,” he whispered and slipped his drenched fingers out of her, bringing them to her lips. She sucked on them as he helped her finish him. 

When he came, Father Kylo kissed her forehead, and he knelt before and rested his head on her lap, full of bliss he hadn’t felt in a long time. She kissed the top of his head and ran her fingers through his hair, still recovering from the intensity of his touches. 

_ Fucking priest.  _

Father Kylo shut his eyes, and he wished to stay like this until there was nothing left of the world but the two of them.


	20. The Time for Home

Rey didn’t mind sitting in the kitchen, in the dark, in her nightgown, drinking straight from the whiskey bottle, everyone in the asylum fast asleep, soundlessly dreaming, or twisting and turning because of nightmares. She enjoyed what the night often brought: silence. Not even her mind dared whisper. 

What was there to say?

No thoughts. No doubts. No past or future. Just now, now, now, now—

And a stillness, a quietness, a peace. Within Rey. Buried beneath the anger, the pain. 

Outside, the wind howled, and the leaves livened to its violent song and danced. 

She stood by the sink and stared out the window. The silver moon in the sky looked like a shiny pearl settled in the bottom of the sea, and the stars like wasted pennies in a wishing well. She shut her eyes with casted moonlight upon her face. 

Thunder clapped. 

_I am worth it._

* * *

It seemed Rey was mistaken. She wasn’t the only one awake. 

Five sisters had gathered at the bottom of the staircase, whispering between themselves like crones around the hearth. Among them were Sister Leia and Sister Holdo. And another woman, a young woman with a swollen belly, drenched head to toe from the rain that had suddenly descended across the countryside. She could only tell by the candlelight, which the sisters held up to guide them in the dark, their shadows misshaped on the walls. 

“Find her some dry clothes. A room for her to stay in.” Rey heard Sister Leia say. “Then to bed. We’ll discuss in the morning.” 

The three sisters departed down the hallway with the stranger. And the silence that followed stretched on until Rey stepped forward. 

“What’s going on here?” 

Sister Holdo jumped. “Oh my, Force! Rey, you’re as sneaky as the tabby cat that steals into my garden.” 

Rey crossed her arms. “I have nine lives to spare, as well, sister.”

“Why aren’t you in your room?” Sister Leia said. 

“I came down for a glass of water. Didn’t think there was a ban.” 

Sister Holdo, steadying her breathing, managed a smile. “No ban, Rey—” 

Sister Leia interjected. “Best you go back to bed.” 

“I would, but my question remains unanswered.” 

“And it will remain unanswered. Off to bed, Rey.” 

“You think you can boss me around like one of the children?” She advanced. “I asked a question. I want an answer.” 

Sister Leia laughed, breaking her mask of solemnity. “If not a child, then what?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“What are you?” 

“I’m a grown woman.” 

“Are you also a whore?” Sister Leia raised her voice, candlelight flickering across her face, monstrously contorting her features, turning her into the monsters Rey had sworn hid under her bed and in her closet as a child. 

“What?” Rey’s voice was barely above a whisper. 

“Are you a whore?” Sister Leia repeated. When Rey didn't answer, she grabbed the front of Rey’s nightgown, and she pushed it aside, stabbing her crooked finger at the base of Rey’s neck and exposing bruised flesh in the shape of two crescent-shaped marks. “A love-bite, isn’t it, Sister Holdo?” 

Rey swatted Sister Leia’s hand away and covered the love-bite, fuming with anger unfelt in years— 

“Fuck you.” 

“Rey,” Sister Holdo pleaded. 

“ _Am I a whore?_ Is that what you said, Sister Leia? I’m whatever the fuck I want to be.” 

“Then, _who are you_?” And Sister Leia walked away. 

  
  


* * *

The rain fell harder, as it did the night she and Father Kylo fell together in their first of many sins. 

_Sins?_ Rey scoffed at the idea of what they were doing was somehow wrong. What she felt wasn’t wrong. How her body sang with his every touch wasn’t wrong. It was beautiful. What she felt was beautiful. 

_I’ll do as I please. I’ll fuck as I please. I’m whatever the fuck I want to be_ —

_Who are you?_

And like that, all confidence broke. Doubts and fears seeped through the cracks inside Rey’s chest, pushing through the wall of rocks piled around her heart. She was drowning inside herself, lost in thoughts...She wanted the silence again. The peaceful silence...She wanted to disappear. 

“Rey, go to bed,” Sister Holdo said quietly. 

Rey blinked. “Who was that?” she whispered. 

“Someone who needs our help.”

“She’s pregnant, isn’t she?” 

“Yes.” Sister Holdo sighed. “I know that look, Rey. Don’t fall back into the past like that. She is no one. Alright?” 

No one. 

_Like me._

* * *

Father Kylo told himself he would spend his morning reading a Sacred Text. Ten minutes into the task, he had not gotten past the page he had opened to, rereading the same sentence at least five times. Maybe more, the strung-together words making little to no sense to him. In truth, they meant nothing. Not to him, especially when his office door opened, and Rey hurried in, shutting it behind her. He abandoned the book immediately, forgetting the empty words. He only saw her. 

“Rey,” he said like a little prayer whispered in the dark. 

She didn’t smile. She stood there, still holding onto the doorknob, and Father Kylo knew that something was quite not right. He got up from his chair and went to her. And she fell into his warm embrace, and he held her, afraid she would slip away. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

Rey shut her eyes. “Don’t ask. Just hold me.” 

And he did. He wound his arms more tightly around Rey as if his arms were a shield that would protect her from all the pain in the world. 

_He can’t protect me,_ she thought. _Not when I’m my own worst enemy._

Rey pressed the side of her face against his broad chest, listened to his heart, hearing it beat. A lovely sound. Music to her ears. 

She sighed. 

“I never had a home,” she admitted. “Not really. And if I did, I wouldn’t know it. But maybe I would. And this here feels like it. Feels like home. Doesn’t it?” 

Father Kylo pulled her closer. “Feels like home to me.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* they're so soft...


	21. The Sort of Pain You Can't See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you all ready to board the pain train?
> 
> TW: pregnancy related death of a minor original character

Days became weeks. And weeks became months. 

And Rey had yet to fuck the priest. 

_A real sin,_ she thought. 

She wanted her fantasies realized because while dreams had rendered her wet most nights, they were not the same as the feeling of his very large body on top of hers, his cock inside her. And stolen kisses and unchaste touches were satiable, but never enough to ward off the hunger she really felt after they secretly rendezvoused and reached their respective orgasms. 

She knew he wanted her just as much, both wanting the other nude, the other sweaty and panting. Both wanted to fuck. But Father Kylo had sworn not to go down that road.

Did he not want the bond between them made more real? 

Rey wasn’t entirely sure. Neither was Father Kylo. 

  
  


* * *

Rey tidied the classroom after the children left for recess, pushing chairs in, collecting abandoned colored pencils and storing them back into their containers, and picking up trash from the floor. Then she shut off the lights, locked the door, and wandered off down the hall and into the kitchen. 

Eunice was there, dirty apron tied around her waist, fingers coated in flour, mixing a bowl of cake batter. So was the stranger, who started work in the kitchen after her mysterious arrival at the asylum the night of the storm, chopping carrots and celery, basked in sunlight that streamed through the window. 

“Try these,” Eunice told Rey, pushing a plate of freshly baked banana bread across the counter. 

Rey tried a slice and offered her sincerest praise and grabbed another. 

But the delicious banana bread wasn’t the real reason for her visiting the kitchen. Nor was it for her previous visits. She wanted to see the woman. And whenever she did, she couldn’t help but think that life was an awful comedian, poorly retelling a punchline to a bad joke over and over again. 

Twenty-three years ago, was it not her mother who arrived at the asylum, very pregnant, very alone in the world, very desperate? 

_She is no one._

* * *

Rey knocked on Father Kylo’s office door, imagining all the naughty scenarios she would like to play out with the priest, preferably on top of his desk, but all dirty thoughts ceased when she saw his severe long-drawn face. There was no smile on his lips. No warmth in his eyes. No softness in his face.

Nothing. 

Father Kylo clenched his jaw, swinging the door wider, revealing his guest—Archbishop Snoke. 

“Miss Rey, isn’t it? The art schoolteacher?” Archbishop Snoke got up from his seat and proceeded toward Rey.

Rey forced a smile. “It is.” 

“What a pleasure.” He held out his hand as he did the first time they met in the studio, expecting her to kiss it. 

_I’ll fucking chop your hand off, you smug bastard..._ Rey quickly brushed her lips against his knuckles. 

“What brings you here?” 

_Well, I was hoping to be properly fingered by the priest…._

“Miss Rey was interested in the history of Mortis,” Father Kylo quickly answered. “And I so happened to have a book on it.” 

Rey watched him move toward his shelf of books. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

“Nonsense, child,” Archbishop Snoke said, sitting back down. “The pursuit of knowledge is never a shameful act.” 

“Here it is.” Father Kylo handed her a thick volume of the supposed history of Mortis. “Is that all, Miss Rey?” 

_No._

“Yes.” 

“Have a good rest of your day, Miss Rey,” Archbishop Snoke wished. 

Rey simply nodded and exited, not before a quick glance back, hoping to find some semblance of warmth in Father Kylo’s eyes, but the door was already shut. 

* * *

Father Kylo was not at dinner that evening. He was not at breakfast the next morning. Nor the following day. And the next. 

Rey was tempted to visit him in his office and relieve herself of the sudden feeling of unease, of dread that coiled in the pit of her stomach like a snake, but she could never muster the courage to do so. The nasty voice inside her head that had always told her she was worthless and unlovable returned, cementing doubts and fears. 

All she could do was smoke, over-analyze, and feel everything at once. Occasionally, she would have an internal monologue that went like: _Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me_. 

_Fuck me._

Rey sat at the bottom of the staircase. Sisters shuffled up and down the halls. And small children ran in and out through the front doors, laughing, without a care in the world. _To be ignorantly blissful_ , she thought and took a long drag. 

“No smoking inside, Rey.” 

_Zorii._

Rey got up and moved past Zorii and stood in the doorway. “See, Zorii. Smoking outdoors.” 

Zorii shook her head. She said, “You’re impossible.” And she accepted the cigarette Rey offered as an olive branch and took a drag. 

“Tell me about it.” 

“I’m sure Sister Leia beat me to it.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sister Leia is my number one fan.” 

Zorii laughed, and Rey joined. But the laughter ceased when all hell broke loose inside. Panicked sisters suddenly ran down the hall. One after the one, shouts echoing. 

Zorii and Rey reentered and took hold of a wide-eyed Sister Kaydel, who carried a load of folded towels. 

“What’s going on?” Zorii asked. 

“Miss is in labor,” Sister Kaydel said and then fled like the others. 

Rey watched her go, fear spreading to her heart, throughout her body like poison. 

Finn arrived an hour later. 

“This way, doctor,” a sister said.

Hours went. Sisters came and went. The children hadn't a clue what was happening, and the schoolteachers had gathered and talked and smoked (which Zorii paid no attention to). Father Kylo was a no-show. And Rey wanted to drink. Preferably straight from the bottle. 

The wait was over when Finn finally appeared. He looked tired. Beads of sweat glistened his forehead. His shirt was soaked with sweat, his sleeves rolled up, a spot stained with blood. 

Rose placed her hand on his arm. “Well?” 

“A healthy baby girl.” And there was a layer of sadness to the news.

“But?”

Rey’s heartbeat quickened. 

“There was too much blood. I...I couldn’t save the mother.”

  
  


* * *

_She is no one._ Rey paced back and forth in the studio, wildly taking swings of whiskey from the bottle, tears streaking down her face. _No one._

And she was a _no one_ , too. Wasn’t she? A nobody? Abandoned. Unloved. Unwanted. She had no future. She had only the past—

Such ugly thoughts….she couldn’t escape. 

_She is no one. No one. A nobody._

Rey threw the bottle against the wall, and it shattered, scattering all over the floor like tiny sharp islands. 

_No one._

She knelt down and picked a shard up from the floor, accidentally cutting the inside of her palm. She watched blood swell from the wound, watched herself bleed. 

_Her name was Marian._

“Rey?” 

Rey didn’t need to look up. She knew who it was. She had memorized the deep sound sometime now. 

A large hand took her bloodied one and gently dabbed a rag upon the wound. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” Father Kylo said. 

“And you’ve found me.” 

“What happened here?” 

“An accident.” 

“Rey,” Father Kylo pressed. 

“Father.” 

He sighed. “I heard.” 

“And what exactly did you hear?” 

“Marian’s passing.” Father Kylo didn’t meet her eyes. Instead, he focused on cleaning up her wound. “All we can do now is hope for the best. For the little girl.” 

“Hope for the best? You don’t have to be a soothsayer to know the little girl’s future. She was born here, and she’ll die here.” Rey trembled, unable to stop the truth, her truth, her pain. “She’ll either become a schoolteacher or a sister. Oh, she’ll have a proper education, but it will all go to waste. She’ll have friends, I’m sure, but she’ll feel so alone. When she’s older, she will haunt the halls and the rooms like a ghost. And she’ll think of her mother and look for her face in everyone she meets because I do. I still look for my mother’s face. I look for her everywhere.” 

And Rey cried. 

She cried, and she cried because she hadn’t in a long time. Not like this, the pain deep in her bones so intense, darkness spreading into every corner of her mind. She couldn’t stop. 

Father Kylo wiped away her tears. “Rey,” he said, pained. “Please.” 

Rey’s vision blurred, and her head hurt. She wanted to feel good. She wanted to feel loved. Desired. Wanted. She needed _him_. 

She reached for him—

Father Kylo pulled away. 

Rey’s arms went limp in her lap. “Why?” Her voice was so small. 

“It was the reason why I was looking for you...to tell you. We have to stop this. Now. Before it’s too late.” 

She shook her head. “You...you always say that. But you always come to me.” 

“A bit of distance can help with that.” 

“What..what do you mean?” 

“I’m being called to the Knights of Ren monastery.” 

“You’ll be gone?”

“For a short time.” 

Rey got to her feet while he still knelt, towering over him. “That’s it, then?” 

“Rey.” 

“You’re a coward, priest.” 

“Please, understand.” 

“Go.” 

His eyes were watery, but he did not shed a tear. 

“ _Leave!_ ” 

And Father Kylo left, and Rey broke down a second time that day. 

  
  


* * *

Rey sat on a bench in the garden and smoked. She didn’t think, and she couldn’t feel. She was just...there...

“Care for some company?” Rose appeared and sat down, regardless. 

There was no exchange of words for a while, but the silence between them didn’t last very long. 

“I know you’re upset.” 

“Is it my long blue face?” Rey said, with no hint at humor. 

“And I know why you’re upset.” 

“Do you?” 

“You can’t let your Mother haunt you for the rest of your life.” 

Rey shut her eyes. If only she could shut off the world and sleep and sleep... _I’m so tired._

“Rey?” 

“I know,” she whispered. “I know that. But I can’t help but think about how that little girl will spend the rest of her life unloved.” 

“Look at me.” Rose took hold of her friend’s wrists. “Look, Rey.” Rey looked. “I love you.” 

She smiled. “I love you, too.” 

But the pain was still there, and it threatened to spill everywhere. 

“But it’s not enough,” Rose realized. 

Tears welled in Rey’s eyes, and Rose held her. 

“It’s okay to want more. It’s okay.” 

“I want to believe you.”

“Well, you better believe me, you silly trollop.” 

“Fuck you, you wench.” And Rey held her friend tighter. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind comments! I hope you enjoy these two updates, and I promise you this piece will have a happy ending. (And more smut, of course.)  
> 


	22. The Statues Stare Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late posting. The last couple of days have been rough, but I hope to make up for it with these two new chapters. Enjoy <3

_I am always afraid._

Rey knelt down in the first pew and clasped her hands together. She stared up the faceless statues of the Ones on the altar. Flickering candlelight shone across the smooth surfaces of the statues, and melted candles burned at their marble feet. And shadows behind them grew and latched like leeches onto their backs. As a child, she feared the statues. Feared they came alive in the little church that was guarded by two tall cypress trees at night. She believed they blinked when one stared long enough at them. The sisters had even told her, half-solemn, half-joking, the statues came alive to carry out their sinister plots to scorch the earth of all sin. “So behave, Rey. Be a good girl.” 

Rey was not a little girl anymore. 

She was a grown woman. 

And she felt a little stupid, sitting in the silence in the company of statues. 

“I normally don’t do this,” she began. “I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to do here, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Well, if we’re honest here, I did do this once before. It was the one time I came in here to confess I wanted to fuck a priest. This time is different, of course. It’s not about fucking. Not entirely. Maybe a little. Fine. Fucking has a small part in all this. Not that there has been any fucking lately. There hasn’t.” She sighed. “I need...I need answers. And I need fucking answers now. Oh, wait. Is cursing allowed? Is there a rule against it? I said fucking quite a few times. There probably is a rule, and I don’t know it. Surely I can be the exception here because I fucking curse a lot. _A lot_ a lot. I mean, I say fuck like it’s no one’s business.” Rey nervously laughed but cut it short. She was getting nowhere. “This is pointless. I am talking to myself.”

She got up from the pew and stood before the statues. She was met with silence and perfection. How she wanted to pry free a nail from the floorboards and scratch the marble with it and sully the statues with flaws and ugliness. Or smash the statues’ heads and kick them. 

“Please,” she begged. “I want…”

 _What do you even want, Rey?_ the inner voice inside her head whispered back. 

“I want to be enough.”

_You are._

“I want to be loved.”

_You are loved._

“I want...I want to be fucked. I want a family. I want not to feel so alone.” 

She _was_ alone. So alone.

* * *

  
  
  


That evening, Rey was restless. 

She sprawled out like a lazy cat on her bed, unable to sleep, and stared up at the ceiling, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She then rolled onto her stomach and placed her chin in the crook of her elbow. She took the cigarette from her mouth and stretched her mouth into an O-shape, failing miserably at puffing out rings of smoke she had often seen glamorous actresses do in movies. 

_Fuck it._

She crawled from out her bed and stalked toward the window. Outside, the sky had turned gray, and rain pattered against the glass. Thunder rumbled beyond the hills in the distance. 

Rey sometimes thought her room was a world. Her world of plain plastered cracked white walls and a single-window not wide enough. It was not as paradisaical as the studio. But it was more like a birdcage. It kept her from flying too great of height and flying too close to the sun. It kept her from falling, kept her safe and sad and lonely. 

All she could do was stare out at the bigger world and wish she was a part of it. Not that she was waiting for prince charming to come and rescue her from the tower. 

A fanciful knight on a handsome steed was never coming. She wasn’t even too sure about a priest and his little book of erotic stories. She had only herself to break free or stay forever shut inside. 

Rey poured herself a drink. “Cheers to the lonely fucks and the fucked,” she muttered under her breath and drank. She drank some more and shut her eyes, feeling so warm and light as a feather. She moved her hips, swaying back and forth to unheard music. She didn’t need music. Nature provided her a symphony, the rain falling harder, the wind picking up, violently lashing against the trees, the building, thunder crashing, leaves whistling. She danced in her cage that was her room. 

And Rey wanted out. And she wanted things many thought her foolish to dare _to want_. There was no longer doubt. 

_I am divine. Loved. Important._

_I am Rey. And I am going to fuck a priest._

She opened her eyes, smiling. 

* * *

  
  


After midnight, Rey woke from a sweet dream that had rendered her panties wet. Someone was banging on her door, and before she could put her thoughts in order, Rose entered. She turned on the lamp and found that her friend’s eyes were puffy and red, her cheeks wet from tears. 

“Rose,” Rey said softly. “What’s...what’s wrong?” 

“I can’t sleep. Can I stay the night with you?” 

“Of course.” 

Rey moved over and watched Rose climb into her bed. She pulled the covers over them and shared her pillow as they often did when they were too drunk to walk back to their respective rooms or pre-passed-out-on-the-floor. Rose turned and lay on her side and curled into herself, and Rey turned, and she lay on her side and wiped the last of her friend’s tears, and they said not a word until the storm that raged outside passed. 

When the storm finally passed, Rey spoke first. “Why were you crying?” 

Rose shook her head. “The thunder...sounded too much like bombs falling. I was doing so well. I don’t know what came over me. I braved through the last storms, but this one...I can’t stop thinking about _her._ ” 

About Paige, Rose’s sister. Rey had seen her in the few pictures Rose had of her, but she never met her in person. She never would. The most Rose had said of her sister was that Paige had been a nurse during the war, and she died in one of the bombings. Rose kept the rest of her memories of her sister hidden.

“I miss her so much."

Rey leaned her forehead against Rose’s and said, “Think of a good memory of her and keep it close to your heart.” 

“Where do I put the pain?” 

“Well, you can give it to me for the night.”

“But you have your pain.” 

“My pain is less tonight.” 

Rose shut her eyes. “I’m so tired, Rey.” 

“Then sleep.” 

And Rose did, and Rey soon followed. 

  
  



	23. Divine Intervention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forewarning: mention of physical abuse (flagellation)

The priest was to return from his trip to the Knights of Ren monastery, and Rey was more than ever determined to get her man and be content and live. She realized she missed him. His company. His beautiful face. His largeness. His thick fingers…

_ I will say my peace, and he will listen to me. What I feel is not wrong, you idiot priest.  _

And so she heartily ate her breakfast in the morning, taught her students how to shade, snuck a few shots of vodka in the kitchen with Rose and an overwhelmed Cook in the afternoon, and sat in the little church as the sun dipped low and the stars appeared in the sky. 

“It’s me again,” Rey said out loud to the statues. “Don’t worry. I didn’t come for answers. It was wrong of me to ask for divine intervention and think others will provide the answers I seek. I know that now. I know what I have been looking for and missing from my life. And I know my pain, and it will not cripple me. I want to take control of my life. 

“It’s funny. It’s as if I had an epiphany. I will admit, I was drunk, and I think I had hit rock bottom, but I know now not to look for others to change my life. I have to change my life. And I’m going to, starting with the fucking priest. I’m going to tell him how I feel, whether he likes it or not.” She got up, grinning. “How do you like them apples?” 

In an unsuspecting turn of events, one of the Ones’ statues suddenly tipped over and fell and smashed into bits. 

Rey took a step back. “Force, are you there? It’s me. It’s Rey.” 

Silence. 

“Is this a good sign? A bad sign?” 

Nothing. 

“I think I should go. It’s been a real spiritual pleasure.” 

Rey hurried out of the little church.  _ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.  _

* * *

It had gotten dark. And Rey nearly died a few times on her way to the asylum, tripping, stumbling, cursing, almost having a heart attack when a cat suddenly jumped out from a tree, stuck the landing as any proficient gymnast would after catapulting from a vault, and darted into the bushes. 

She stopped at some point, breathed in, breathed out, and decided she needed a smoke before heading back inside. 

_ The Force is fucking with me. That’s it.  _ So she lifted her middle finger at the sky. _ Well, the Force can fuck right off— _

Heavy footsteps suddenly sounded behind her. She whirled around, her heart erratically beating, and saw the dark silhouette of a towering figure approaching her, no, staggering in her direction. She squinted, and when she realized who it was, her eyes widened. 

“Hello there, priest,” she said. “Welcome back.” 

“Rey,” he greeted, but his voice was shaky, weak. 

“It’s a good thing we’ve crossed paths.” 

“Is it?” 

“We need to talk.” 

“Must we talk now?” 

“Yes.” Rey then frowned. “I thought buses don’t run so late.”

“I walked.” 

“From the monastery?”

He winced. “Yes.” 

Something was quite not right. 

Rey stepped forward, and with what little light the lamp post that lined the path offered, she noticed that Father Kylo did not look  _ well.  _ Not well at all. He was paler than usual. His hair wet from sweat, plastered to his forehead. He was clenching his side, holding himself together, as if afraid to let go and fall to pieces like the statue in the little church. His feet were also bare. 

“What happened to...where are your shoes? Were you robbed?” 

“No.” Father Kylo slightly swayed. 

Rey reached out and held him up as he leaned into her, amazed at her strength for Father Kylo was refrigerator-sized, heavy. But she recoiled at the sensation of something sticky on her fingers. She looked down. It was blood. 

“You’re bleeding!” 

“A mere scratch.”.

Rey checked his side, his buttoned-down shirt drenched with his blood. “Damn it, priest.” 

Without saying much else, she helped him and bore much of his weight. He staggered alongside her, breathing heavily; he did not complain once of pain. 

They walked around to the back of the building, where he temporarily lived with Old Man Luke, and she opened the backdoor with the key Rey had to fish out from Father Kylo’s pocket, as carefully as possible. Making sure not to make noise, they made their way down the unlit hallway, passing room after room until they finally reached his room. 

She turned on the light, and he collapsed into a chair in the corner and hunched over, gritting his teeth. “Fuck.” 

“Will you tell me what’s going on? What happened to you?” 

“It’s best you go, Rey.” 

“What?” 

“Thank you for helping me, but you have to go.” 

“No,” she said and searched his bathroom for clean towels. 

“Please, Rey,” he begged. 

She returned. “Take off your shirt. I’ll clean you up.” 

Father Kylo stared at her. 

_ You stubborn fool.  _

She knelt before him and undid his buttons, his chest rising and falling like the tide. He leaned a bit forward, rested his forehead against her shoulder, his breath hot above her breast, her nipple perking despite the fabric separating her from his mouth. She gently pushed his shirt off from his shoulders, down his arms. 

He closed his eyes. “Please, don’t look.” 

“I see you already.” 

And she drew back and saw him.

And she could not unsee. 

The deep cut on his side was fresh. A long messy line that would not entirely heal. 

But the sight was not what Father Kylo feared. 

Rey leaned closer. Another scar, white and curved around his waist. She got to her feet and saw that he had many scars on his back. Old ones on top of older ones crisscrossed like highways—he had been lashed, repeatedly. 

Someone had hurt him. 

Father Kylo made fists of his hands. “ _ He  _ doesn’t like it when I feel the pull towards the light. He wanted it beat out of me. My punishment.” He laughed, but there was no humor in his laugh, just a hollowness, a sadness. “He took my shoes, wanted me to think about it on my way back. ‘The road to absolution is a treacherous one,’ he said, the fucker.” 

“Who...who did this to you?”

“Archbishop Snoke.” 

“He did this? Is he been doing this to you? I knew I didn’t like him for a reason, parading around like a holy man. You must report him. Leave his side, at once.” 

“You don’t understand. He is powerful—a cruel man. There is no leaving his side. It’s too late.” 

Rey grabbed his face and forced him to look at her. “It isn’t too late.” 

“I’m not strong enough.” 

“You are.” 

“I destroy things. I destroy people. I deserve this and more.” 

“Don’t talk like that.” 

“I’ll destroy you.” 

“I’m already fucked as is,” she said. 

“Leave, Rey.” 

“Ben.” She called him by his real name, and tears spilled from his eyes. “I’ll help you.” 

“You can’t.” 

_ Watch me.  _

Rey went to the bathroom once more and turned on the faucet, filling a basin with warm water. She came back, knelt before him, and cleaned him, dabbing a wet towel over his side, wiping away the blood, and wiping his face from sweat and tears. Then she lifted his dirty, blistered feet and placed them inside the basin and washed them. It was a poor performance of a baptism. There was nothing healing about her touch, nothing spiritual, but she rid the dirt between his toes, hoped to work his pain away. Water dripped onto the floor—or was it his tears that pooled on the floor? She did not want to think. She reached out for a towel, but there were no more clean towels. She improvised and bent a little and dried his feet with her hair instead, giving bits and pieces of herself over to him because she wanted to. 

He was so quiet. 

_ Will he turn me away like before? Is he still afraid? _ She looked up at him and saw that he wouldn’t. 

Father Kylo’s eyes darkened. “Stop that,” he whispered. 

“Let me help you,” she whispered back. 

He brought Rey up, and his hands stayed on her shoulders. “But I hurt you. With what I said to you in the studio.” 

“You did. I thought you didn’t want me.” 

“The moment I first saw you, I wanted you.” 

“Then choose me. Be with me.”

“I...I don’t deserve you.” 

“That’s Archbishop Snoke talking.” 

He let go of her shoulders and ran his thumb over her parted lips. “I missed you.” 

“It’s only been a week, priest,” she said, breathlessly. 

“I think I’ve been missing you all my life.” His hands drifted down, and he traced the outline of her breasts. “You made me feel so good. Let me make you feel good tonight. I can make you feel good, even though I destroy everything.” 

Rey gulped. “I’m unbreakable, Father.” 

He chuckled, the corner of his eyes crinkling. “So unafraid.” His hands slipped beneath her blouse. “So compassionate,” he murmured. 

“Yes,” she panted. “I’m a saint.” 

“I’ll like to see you. May I?” he asked, and she nodded, lifting her arms over her head. He peeled the blouse off from her and discarded it. She went to unclasp her bra, but he stopped her. “Leave it.” 

“You like to see me debauched, Father, don’t you?” 

He grinned before sinking his mouth over hers. A sweet peck, at first. Innocent. But innocence had been long lost. He deepened the kiss, flickering his glorious tongue into her mouth, the taste of him making her cunt clench. 

He pulled her bra straps down and tugged at the cups, and her breasts burst free. He took one of her breasts in his hand, massaging it, squeezing it, pinching her stiff nipple. It felt good. So good, she groaned into his mouth, the warmth of his palm against her skin driving her wild. He pinched harder and left her mouth. 

“I had a dream once, where you came to me. You had your breasts out like this. And I was so parched, wanting. You climbed on top of me, lowered your breasts to my lips, and I sucked, and I sucked. You tasted so sweet.” He brought his mouth over her breast and planted a kiss. “Such pretty little tits,” he praised. His tongue snaked out, and he licked once before he sucked hard. 

Rey gasped.  _ Oh, oh...oh... _ . 

“Father?” Her voice quivered. 

“Yes?” he answered with a mouthful of her. 

“Are you sure about this?”  _ Shut the fuck up, Rey.  _ “This can wait.”  _ Wait? Did you just say that? Your pussy can’t wait. Your pussy is impatient. Stop talking.  _ “Maybe you should rest first.”  _ I’m a fucking idiot.  _

Father Kylo grazed her nipple with his teeth before he released her breast and looked at her, his eyebrows furrowing, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “You want to stop?” 

She got to her feet, crossing her arms. “Not necessarily, but you walked all this way. You must be tired.” 

He smiled and didn’t dare look away when his hand dipped underneath her skirt, pressing it over her panties. “But you’re so wet, Rey,” he said, and he slipped his finger inside and ran it up and down her slick slit, teasing her, slowly torturing her. His other hand slipped underneath and tugged her panties down, and he lifted her skirt above her waist. “So swollen.” She moaned when he shoved two fingers inside her, pulling in and out in a rhythm that hastened her heartbeat; she clamped her hand down over her mouth.“So tight.” 

_ Yes.  _

“You feel so good.” 

Rey bit down on her hand, heat blossoming between her thighs. She wanted to scream. Wanted to say his name over and over again like an incantation. She wanted to fuck his hand. Wanted him. Only him. 

“That’s right. Fuck my hand. I want to make you feel so good.” 

“You do, Ben. You make me feel so good.” 

Father Kylo growled. He got to his feet without retrieving his hand from her cunt and backed her up against the wall. “Say my name again.” 

She felt his hard erection as he pressed his body against hers. “Ben,” she breathed. 

“Again.” 

“Ben. My Ben.” 

He pulled his fingers out and licked them. “So sweet.” He knelt, lifting her skirt up. “I’m going to eat your pretty little pussy now. The walls are thin. Can you keep quiet for me?” 

Rey licked her lips and nodded and let him spread her legs apart. She writhed with each playful kiss he planted inside her thighs, squirmed as he cupped her ass and brought her cunt closer to his mouth, and trembled while he lapped up the slick between her folds, devouring her, setting her body on fire. 

_ Oh, yes. Yes, please. Yes. _

“You’re so beautiful, Rey,” he said.

Rey shut her eyes, running her fingers through his hair, thrusting her hips as his tongue dipped inside her, plundering her, as his thumb rubbed her clit, building her up, feeling so much. 

She felt so good.

“Come for me, Rey.” 

And Rey came. 

  
  
  
  



	24. The Room of Ecstasy

Pleasure rolled off Rey’s body in waves, a calmness settling in her mind, bliss burgeoning between her breasts. It was as if she was floating in the middle of a vast ocean, weightless above the waves, drifting in every which way, fully awake. 

_ Oh, Force.  _

Her legs gave out, and she would have fallen like a house of cards if it weren’t for the wall behind her. She slid down it, slipping farther and farther into a private, inner ecstasy only she could feel but wanted to share. She wanted to share the feeling with Father Kylo, who wrapped his strong arms around her and took her in his lap. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she smiled. It was not a smile of secrets. It was a knowing smile. She knew it was  _ his  _ turn to feel good as surely as she could feel his erection. She looked down. And there it was, the front of his pants tented. She reached out to unzip his pants, but he took her hand in his, and he lay her down gently on the floor. “Another time,” he said and rested his head on her chest, his big body covering hers entirely. 

She would have argued, but the feeling of being held overwhelmed her. So they stayed in an embrace, holding onto one another like intertwining trees, fingers laced, legs tangled, desperate to get closer.

The world didn’t exist for a while. 

All the world was inside Father Kylo’s unexceptional room. All the hope. 

Rey ran her fingers through his hair, imagining losing herself in him entirely, and said, at last, “You were quite good, priest.” 

“You liked it?” His voice was small, hesitant. 

“Yes, very much. But now, I’m more than ever curious as to how you got quite so good.” 

“I’m a priest, Rey, not a saint.” 

“Imagine being canonized as a saint.” 

He huffed and said nothing. 

“Saint of the skillful tongues.” 

“Rey,” he warned. 

“Martyr Ben who blissfully gave his life licking cunt.” 

He pinched her nipple. 

“Patron of pussy-eating.” 

He seized both her wrists and pinned them above her head, his broad chest rising and falling. “Are you finished?” 

“Never said  _ I  _ was a saint, Ben.” 

“No, you didn’t.” And he kissed her hard on the mouth, shoving his tongue inside, licking the foul words that hid behind her teeth, building an intensity that consumed her entire self and set a fire inside her body, a fire which spread and burned every muscle, every bone, every corner of flesh. She would happily let him consume her. She wanted him to. 

They broke for air, and they stared into each other’s eyes. 

“We’ll have to be careful,” he said, panting. 

“You choose me then?” 

“Yes, I choose you.” 

His words burst like fireworks in her mind.  _ I choose you.  _ Such beautiful words, words she needed like food, like air. Words she could never afford, but now were given to her without second thought. Words that did not hurt. Words that kissed her skin instead. 

Tears welled in her eyes. “Really?” 

He nodded and pressed his forehead against hers. “I choose us. I risk going to hell,” he joked. “But I don’t care anymore. They’ll have to pry me from your arms and drag me away.” 

_ Fucking priest. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all smut sailing from here <3


	25. The Confessional

Sin was as common as the cold, and all caught it, one way or another, even the saintly sisters of Amidala Asylum. The cure to it was going to confession. 

Rey usually skipped confession, not that she was of the very virtuous kind. She made plenty of transgressions. Some unintentional. Some on purpose. Ever since she was a child, it was ruler-beaten into her palms that it was necessary to confess one’s sins, to cleanse one’s soul. She could hear Sister Leia now, see the spit flying from the sister’s mouth, giving the speech on damnation and sin, even though Sister Leia was nowhere near her: ‘The Force is all-forgiving, Rey, if one can only forgive one’s self and repent.’

_Fucking Force._ She needed a drink. 

“Rey.” It was Sister Jannah. “Here for confession, I take it.” 

“Yes. I’m afraid I have much to confess.” 

Sister Jannah smiled. “Well, then. May the Force be with you.” 

“And also with you.” 

Rey crossed her arms. She was more certain than ever that she had finally secured a one-way ticket straight to hell, having lied to Sister Jannah. In a holy shelter like the little church of all places. And without an ounce of shame. 

Rey wasn’t there for confession. She was there for Father Kylo. 

She sat impatiently in the last pew in the back of the church. And she shook her legs, avoiding all eye contact with the statues that seemed to be staring into her soul, avoiding all the sisters. She focused instead on the velvet curtain dropping as a sister entered the confessional, disappearing within. 

Minutes went slowly like molasses dripping from a silver spoon. Watching sister after sister, marching in and out of the confessional. Waiting. Sitting in an intolerable silence—

A firm hand gripped her shoulder. “Your turn, dear.” 

Rey nodded at the sister, who then left the church. She got up and entered the wooden box that looked like a coffin, a confining contraption, closed-in, eager to trap her, ready to suffocate her. 

She sighed and knelt, facing the latticed opening that separated her from the priest. “Father,” she whispered. 

“Rey.” 

“How did you know it was me?” 

“I’d know your voice anywhere.” 

Rey bit her bottom lip. “What happens now?” 

“You tell me your sins.” 

“Where to begin?” Rey thought hard, and a vivid childhood memory came to her. “Ah, yes. I once bit a sister’s nipple and felt no remorse for doing it. Is that a sin?” 

“You what?” 

“I was young. A kid was bothering me, and I punched him. I knocked two of his front teeth out. And Sister—I forgot her name—she dragged me to my room, and I had none of it. I kicked and screamed. She picked me up, and I bit. And I bit too hard. Right through the fabric of her garb. She ended up having to get stitches.” 

“You are a fiend, Rey.” 

“I also stole an entire cake Cook had spent an entire day making and blamed it on Old Man Luke.” 

“Not surprised.” 

“In my defense, it was a chocolate cake.” 

“Imagining you eating an entire chocolate cake does something to me.”

Rey clenched her thighs. “What does it do to you?” 

“It makes my cock twitch...I imagine you opening your sweet mouth, taking it all in. I wonder...Would you take me all in? You would, Rey, wouldn’t you? Take my entire cock in your little mouth?” 

_Fuck._ Rey gulped. “Father, I’m not done telling you my sins.” 

“Very well. Continue.” 

Continue? Where had she left off? Rey shut her eyes, breathing heavily. She had to focus, but she couldn’t. She was aroused, throbbing, wet— _fucking priest._

“I have dirty thoughts. Constantly.” She finally managed, spreading her knees apart. “I think about sex all the time. I used to even fantasize about the sisters having orgies inside this very church. I fantasize about being fucked on an altar.”

“Quite the fantasy.” 

“I touch myself. I touch myself multiple times a day. You imagine my mouth taking your cock. I imagine you touching me.” She lifted her dress. “I get wet, just thinking about you. Sometimes, I go without wearing any panties. I get so wet, imagining you finger-fucking me or your mouth on my cunt. Ben, I can’t stop touching myself.”

“Are you wearing any underwear now?” Father Kylo’s voice had gotten husky, low. 

“No,” she said and began touching herself. 

“Were you the last person out there?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you wet now, Rey?”

Rey moaned, shoving three fingers inside her slick pussy. 

“Are you fucking yourself?” 

“Yes.” She pushed her fingers in and out, harder and deeper, finding a rhythm that would make her body sing. 

“But it isn’t enough, is it?” 

“No,” she whined. 

“Why? Tell me.” 

“My fingers aren’t large enough.” 

“Do you want my cock?” 

_Yes Yes Yes._ “Yes. Please, I want you. I want you.” 

“You have me, Rey. You have me.” 

Before Rey could come in the confessional box, he ceased all dirty talk. At first confused, she slowed her fingers’ movement, and then she froze, startling at the sound of the church doors opening. 

She scrambled to her feet and readjusted her dress, grumbling under her breath for having shit luck. _FUCK._ And she swore to the Force she’d wring the neck of whoever it was that interrupted them. 

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

It was a smiling sister who took her time down the aisle, approaching her slowly. “Morning, Rey.” 

_Fuck you. How I’ll like to knock_ your _front teeth out._

“Morning.” 

The sister entered the confessional box, and Rey stood there, stuck in place, not wanting to leave. Her pussy was still wet, the ache still there between her thighs.

_Fuck this_. 

Quietly, she drew back the curtain on Father Kylo’s side, and he was surprised, alarmed, his eyes widening, his eyes telling her no. She brought a finger to her lips. _Don’t make a sound, priest_. And she entered, closing the curtain behind her and knelt, settling between his legs. 

Although both ignored the sister’s ramblings on the other side, who was entirely oblivious to what was happening, Father Kylo tried—attempted at pretense. He shut his eyes, his body tensed, his face paler than usual, and occasionally encouraged the sister to continue listing off her sins. When the sister took off into a lengthy spiel about stealing money from the collections, he pressed his lips together in a tight line and opened his eyes and stared down at Rey. He looked like an unforgiving god on his throne. 

Rey knew how to worship. 

She ran her hand over the bulge in the front of his pants, watching him wince at her touch. _Does that feel good, priest?_ She knew he couldn’t hear her thoughts, but she saw the answer in his eyes. 

He wanted more. 

Rey unzipped his pants, and his cock sprang free. So big. So hard. She trailed her finger up and down the length of him, sending shivers all across his body. She thumbed circles on his head, round and round, swiping the precum that was there. She let go and licked her thumb suggestively. 

Father Kylo breathed heavily, making fists of his hands. 

“And another thing, Father…” 

The sister’s voice was far away. As brief and gone like a breeze—Rey could only hear Father Kylo’s heavy breathing, his fingernails scraping across the inside of his palms, as she pumped him, squeezed him hard, as she then took him in her mouth, pressing her tongue against him, licking him, sucking him.

He hissed and braced himself against the walls of the confessional. “Yes,” he gasped. 

“Father?” 

Father Kylo cleared his throat and hurried in officiating the end of the confession and concluded, “May the Force be with you. Always. 

“And also with you.” 

When they were sure the sister had left, Father Kylo leaned back and groaned loudly, moving his hips, tangling his hands into Rey’s hair, shoving his cock more into her little mouth, urging her to suck faster. “Fuck. _Fuck_.” 

Rey released his cock and reached for his mouth instead. She found him just as eager as he tasted her salty lips, sucking her bottom lip...

She relentlessly rubbed him, harder and harder. She wanted to make him feel so good—

He shuddered as he came all over her hands, groaning into her mouth. 

“I have plenty of more sins to tell, priest,” Rey whispered. 

Father Kylo leaned back, still panting, still recovering. “Tell me them all.” 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope these last two chapters bring you a bit of joy. 
> 
> To my American readers, if you haven't already and if you can, please donate, sign petitions, protest. Now is not the time to stand aside and watch. 
> 
> Stay safe. 
> 
> Much love ❤


	26. Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her head lolled to the side, and she rested against the vinyl upholstered booth, watching Rose and Finn and Zorii and others who had suddenly turned faceless laugh and dance and smoke and drink and smile. Their smiles were so big. Maybe it was her eyes, but the bar had become smoky as if fumes had risen from the cracks in the floorboards and made everyone look happy. 
> 
> She did not look happy. She looked flushed. Tired. Over-exerted. Her body was tense, and sweat glistened on her skin, her dress sticking to her body. She couldn’t move or properly think, not with Father Kylo’s hand creeping underneath her dress and up her thigh. 
> 
> “Tell me,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Have you sinned lately?” 

Peanut shells were scattered across the tabletop like seashells on the shore. Wet circles as interlocked as the Olympic rings were left behind as well on the tabletop from sweaty half-filled glasses, spilled water seeping into the wood. Rey placed her palm flat on the table, her fingers cooling, becoming wet from swiping away the excessive water. Everything seemed so stock-still. She wanted the bar to spin, for everyone to get dizzy and fall down, to be the last one, standing. Then the music played, and bodies moved, and the walls appeared to inch closer and closer. She threw her head back and stared up at the light fixture that hung above her head, winged bugs fluttering to catch the artificial light. She wanted the dark, the comfort of not being seen, the fantasy of being felt, of unknown hands exploring every curve of her body, every dip, scar, mole, and freckle. She wanted everything she ever wished for, everything that was denied her. 

Her head lolled to the side, and she rested against the vinyl upholstered booth, watching Rose and Finn and Zorii and others who had suddenly turned faceless laugh and dance and smoke and drink and smile. Their smiles were so big. Maybe it was her eyes, but the bar had become smoky as if fumes had risen from the cracks in the floorboards and made everyone _look_ happy. 

She did not look happy. She looked flushed. Tired. Over-exerted. Her body was tense, and sweat glistened on her skin, her dress sticking to her body. She couldn’t move or properly think, not with Father Kylo’s hand creeping underneath her dress and up her thigh. 

“Tell me,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Have you sinned lately?” 

Rey bit her bottom lip and parted her legs, the roughness of his skin against hers sending her to a private place of pleasure. “Will you absolve me?” she asked breathlessly. 

“Devils prefer you make many more sins.” Father Kylo dragged his thumb over her clit and began tortuously rubbing. 

_Fuck me._ Rey would travel back in time if she could and kiss her past self for deciding not to wear panties. 

“You a devil in disguise, priest?” Her voice was shaky. 

_Fucking priest._

“Hmmm.” He did not hear her. He was lost in his own thoughts, working his fingers inside her pussy. Strung-together words like _so wet_ and _so tight_ escaped his mouth, dripping down his chin like honey; she wished to lick the words off his lips with her tongue. 

“Father?” 

“I said I wasn’t a saint. Thought we already established that.” 

“Yes, you’re not a saint.” Rey licked her bottom lip. She grew wetter with each thrust of his fingers, her arousal building, his touch waking every part of her body. “But I...I also seem to recall how you mentioned we need to be careful.” 

“Yes.” He shoved harder. 

Rey shut her eyes, lifting her hips slightly. “We’re out in public.” 

“No one can see,” Father Kylo said, “unless you want all these people to see me finger-fucking you.” 

The thought _was_ enticing. But Rey would rather have her secrets and keep them. 

“You know what I want?” Rey said, wrapping her hand around his wrist as he continued to plunge, her wetness dripping down her thighs. 

“What?” 

“I want you to fuck me, Ben.” 

Father Kylo’s eyes darkened. 

“I want your large cock inside me.” She rocked against his fingers, and he rubbed furiously. “I want you to fuck me hard.” 

Her little confessions set a match to his lust and lit it aflame, and it raged inside his chest. He had not the control to stop. He didn’t want to stop. Damned as he was. He couldn’t. 

He drove deeper into her heat, relentless in his rough movement inside her, unforgiving, shameless. 

He knew, and he knew she knew how the night was to end—screaming each other’s name. 

Rey whimpered, her muscles spasming. She was so close, so close… “Harder, Father. Please.” 

_Fuck...Yes..._

She covered her mouth with her hand, suppressing a scream as she orgasmed, her body humming in pleasure. 

_I’ll never wear panties again,_ she thought. 

Father Kylo slid his fingers out from her cunt. He was covered in her juices. She reached to hand him a napkin, but he stuck his fingers inside his mouth and sucked them. 

Rey’s mouth parted, her breathing erratic, her body lax, her mind flooded with dirty thoughts. She reached for her pack of cigarettes and lit a cigarette. How she wanted everyone to disappear and have her priest on the table, naked. How she wanted to grind down on his cock and ride him. She wanted to fuck him—

“Rey.” 

Rose and Finn climbed into the booth, both breathless from dancing to a song that played here every night. 

“You should’ve joined us out there on the dance-floor,” Rose said, and she gulped down the rest of her drink. 

“Next time.” 

“Are you alright?” 

“Actually, I don’t feel quite so well.”

Finn nodded. “You don’t look well. You’re all red in the face. Sweaty. Have you a fever?” 

“I better head back.” 

Rose got up. “We’ll head back with you.” 

“No, I don’t want to ruin your night.” 

“You’re not going back alone.” 

Father Kylo cleared his throat. “I’ll walk Rey home. I best head back myself.” 

Finn grinned, wrapped his arm around Rose’s waist, and brought her back down beside him; she giggled, and she squirmed against him. “That settles it. Another round, Rose?” 

Father Kylo and Rey walked all the way back to the asylum in silence, the night so perfect, so starry, one could cry and think the world wasn’t so awful after all; maybe one could believe it to be beautiful. Perhaps even consider it a dream. 

They neared the little church across from the asylum. 

“Do you pray at night, Father?” 

“Sometimes.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Sometimes?” 

“Sometimes, I call out your name.” 

_Oh, Fuck._

“Fuck me,” she told him. 

He grabbed her chin and tilted her head up. “Not here.” 

Rey couldn’t last much longer. “Then...then fuck me inside the church.” No one visited the church at night. She knew all were asleep in the asylum, safe in their little beds, dreaming of sugar plums, or twisting and turning from nightmares. It was not the ideal place for fucking, but she didn’t really give a damn. 

“Please, Father.” 

He didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. He simply followed her inside the little church, shut and locked the doors behind him, and watched her walk down the aisle to the altar, his cock twitching inside his pants. 

“Rey,” he growled. 

Rey turned around to face him, her body open to him, her desire plain to see. She was again so wet, so tight. So full of longing, she began to unbutton her dress. 

“Now,” she said. “Properly fuck me, priest.” 


	27. After Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, the moment we've all been waiting for lol 
> 
> Enjoy!

Soft-spoken prayers whispered in the night were holier than visiting red-faced bishops shrieking sermons inside a church with a broken air conditioner. Kissing icons of the divine in veneration was not as delicious as kissing a lover or plunging one’s tongue inside a lover’s mouth. Vulgar words uttered before the altar were blasphemous, and the reverence of a naked woman’s body in a holy place such as this one was sacrilege, but Father Kylo was beyond giving a damn about offending the Force with his wickedness when nose-deep in Rey’s wet pussy. 

And oh, was she wet; she was dripping. 

And she was lively, squirming her hips, clenching her thighs every time he swirled his tongue and licked her slit, arching her back like a cat when he pinched her nipples, spread out as she was on the altar with her dress undone like a virgin sacrifice, digging her heels into his back, moaning sweet little musical notes of pleasure. 

She was inviting, open as were her legs. 

He tore his mouth away to thrust three of his thick fingers inside her, like sticking his hand inside a jar of honey, and licked his lips; he could still taste her pussy juice, sweet as nectar. 

He could get drunk off her and be blissful for the rest of his days because heaven was here with this woman. 

He trailed kisses up and down the inside of her thighs, her skin soft and warm. He dared to watch with hungry eyes how her body writhed with his touch, with his kisses. The softer he was, the more she trembled. The rougher he was, the louder she moaned. And he hadn’t even fucked her yet. 

_Force, help me._

In all his thirty-four years of life, angry, alone, wandering like a lost man in a desert without hope, he never imagined such a passion. He never believed he deserved it. He had resigned himself to live a life of restrictions, to secretly write all the dirty things he wanted and fantasized down in a yellow-paged book, and waste his days to appease the unseen—that was until he met Rey. 

Rey was an epiphany. Her mind, verses of blessed scripture. Her body, a sacred shape. Her soul, a flame that did not burn but warm and welcome. 

There would be nights, where he would lie awake in bed and convince himself it was all a dream, that Rey was a dream, but he would prove himself wrong, whispering her name, his fingers still smelling of her cunt, and he would pleasure himself and laugh because it was not a dream. 

What he felt was very much real.

She was real. 

“Rey,” he hissed, palming the bulge in the front of his pants. 

He wanted her. He wanted her more than anything.

“Father.” 

“Look at you. You look so beautiful.” 

Rey swiped away sweaty strands of her hair from her face, panting, longing to not be alone, to be understood, to be desired, craving cock. She sat up, panting, delirious with desire, and she hunched over, cupping his face with her hands, burrowing the side of her face against his.

_I feel beautiful._

He leaned into her touch, kissed the inside of her palm, then kissed the other. “Yes, such pretty tits,” he said and leaned forward and took turns wetting each of her nipples with his tongue. He sucked and bit and licked; then, he rubbed the side of his face against her breasts, pumping his fingers inside her, her slick sliding down his wrist. “Such a pretty little pussy.” 

“Ah,” she said and threw her head back.

“Rey?”

“Mmm.” 

“Would you like my cock inside your pretty little pussy?” 

“Yes, Father. Oh, yes.” 

He drove his fingers harder in and out of her, and he knew she was close, the way her lips parted, the way her body trembled. 

_Come, Rey. Come._

Rey stiffened and cried out, pleasure rolling off her in waves. “Oh, Father,” she sighed. 

* * *

_The fucking priest is a wizard_ , Rey thought, still reeling in the aftershock of her orgasm. _A wizard with magic hands._

She breathed heavily and realized with a thrill how he ruined all men for her. No one would ever compare to him. And she would not go looking for him in others because she wanted him. 

Only him. 

_This sexy Sasquatch of a man is mine._

_Mine._

Father Kylo got to his feet. “Time to go,” he said. 

“What?” she asked incredulously. “You do know fucking requires actual fucking?” 

The corners of his eyes crinkled, and he chuckled. “I thought I could, but I can’t fuck you with all these statues staring.” 

“Oh.” 

He gathered her into his arms and carried her to the backroom as if she were his bride. 

“They are creepy, aren’t they?” she said. “The statues, I mean.” 

“How would you notice when I worked you so good with my fingers?” 

Rey narrowed her eyes. “Cocky bastard.” 

Father Kylo laughed. 

“Think it funny?” 

“Rey?” 

“What?” 

“I’m going to fuck you now.”

“It’s about damn time, priest,” she huffed, a bit annoyed but secretly pleased. 

The backroom was more so for storage than for two young people in need of a place to fuck. There was a foldable table in the middle with four foldable chairs tucked underneath it. Priest garments hung on wire hangers in the wooden closet. Cardboard boxes full of junk were stacked against the peeling white walls. And the lights overheard were dim. 

Rey cocked her head to the side. “Manageable.” 

“Maybe it would be best if we head back to my room,” Father Kylo suggested. 

“No, Father.” Rey wiggled out of his arms, and she stood before him and immediately stripped him of his clerical collar. “Now.” 

“Desperate for my cock, Rey?” 

“Desperate for my cunt, Ben?” she teased back. 

Father Kylo’s eyes darkened. “Desperate?” he repeated, and he pressed his hand against her swollen mound. “Can’t be desperate for what is mine.” 

She shut her eyes. “Isn’t there a rule against possessiveness? Thou shalt not covet. Thou shalt be selfless.” 

“There is.” He shrugged her dress off her shoulders and let it fall to the ground. “But I’m a very selfish man.” 

His voice had gone husky. 

“It’s good to be selfish sometimes,” she murmured, moving quickly to unbutton his neatly pressed black shirt, fumbling miserably. 

_Darn fucking buttons._

He gripped her hips and planted kisses all along her neck. 

_Focus, Rey._ She undid the last button and removed his shirt, flinging it near her dress on the floor. She pressed her palms flat against his stomach. _The body of Adonis,_ she thought dreamily. _Chiseled by the hands of an accomplished sculptor._

Her hands, with a will of their own, roamed up his arms to his back. She felt the bumps of his scars and traced them with her fingers, and she wondered about his pain. Was it like hers? Trapped inside a fist? Or buried deep in the sand, below the sea of memories? 

She promised she would hold him after, and make less the pain. 

He shivered. 

“Priest, you’re not yet naked.” 

“Undress me then.” 

Father Kylo let her unfasten his belt and unzip his pants and tug his pants down. He was as hard and aroused as she was wet, his member springing forth, the full length of him nothing short of breathtaking, the tip coated with pre-cum. 

"Are you..."

Rey rubbed him. “I’m on the pill.” 

He moaned. 

“Does that feel good, priest?” she asked, moving up and down his shaft, pumping him, pressing harder. 

Father Kylo did not answer. He gripped her wrist. “I haven’t been with a woman in a very long time,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“So, you have been with a woman?” 

“Before I joined the priesthood.”

“Did she teach you well?” 

“Taught me a few tricks.” 

Rey smirked. “I have a few tricks of my own, priest.” 

And that was the end of that conversation.

His mouth found hers, and it was a needy kiss, hungry, a tangle of tongues, a seductive game of who would possess who first. 

His hands inched below Rey’s waist, and he grabbed her ass and lifted her as if she weighed nothing. 

A short gasp escaped her. _Naughty priest._ She wrapped her legs around his waist and did not let go, even as he lay her gently on the floor, his body covering hers completely. 

He propped himself on one elbow, and leaned back and studied her face, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. “You think my cock will fit inside your little pussy, Rey?” 

Rey bit her bottom lip, her eyes were half-closed. She spread her legs. “Take me, Father.” 

And he took her, guiding his cock to her entrance, burying deep inside her, filling her, stretching her. 

“Oh.” 

He was so thick, and she was so tight, her pussy clenching around his cock. He began to thrust, at first slowly, in and out, teasing her. Then, he began to snap his hips forward, slamming into her each time, harder, faster, an erratic rhythm that eventually met her hips thrusting against him. It was a strange carnal dance, flesh slapping flesh, sweat perspiring on their bodies, loud moans escaping them both. She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt his hand palm her cunt, stroking her, and he buried his face in the crook of her neck as her nails raked across his ass. 

“Ben...Ben...my _Ben…”_ It was a prayer no god could decipher. 

Rey cried out first; then, Father Kylo, who collapsed on top of her. Their chests rose and fell, and both breathed heavily. Their arms wound around each other, their bodies fitting nicely.

No words were exchanged because they found that there was something holy about silence after sex. 

Rey kissed Father Kylo’s forehead and shut her eyes; Father Kylo tightened his arms around her. 

It was a pleasure to sin. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *lights a cigarette* Well, it's about damn time....
> 
> As always, thank you all for the comments; they mean a lot!  
> Until next time <3


	28. A Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've been a tad bit behind on updates BUT *throws three chapter updates and runs* 
> 
> *comes back almost immediately* Also, I love how most of you in the comments were like, "Finally!" lol Yes, it finally happened for my two horny idiots. It only took 27 chapters, but we got there in the end, didn't we?! 
> 
> Anyways...Happy reading!

Nights had once been the longest, the loneliest for Rey when she had only her dreams and memories and pillows to cling to, desperate to feel safe in the seemingly endless darkness, starved of touch and belonging. Because in the dark, there had been no one, no arms reaching out to hold her, to brush away the scary thoughts that would creep inside her mind like snakes in the grass, or to crush the fears of not entirely living, of passing each day as if it were not exceptional. 

She had been untethered, lingering like a ghost, occasionally spotted by Rose and the sisters, but never _seen_. 

Existing like that—It was never enough. 

But hands found her now. Large hands. And they traveled up her waist, up her arms, on either side of her face. And tentative fingertips traced her parted lips. And warm eyes beheld her. 

Each movement of his and each sound escaping her mouth became small declarations— _She is here, and he is with her._

It was a wonder, a miracle to find a place, a home in someone's arms, to not be alone—an act of the Force, a rarity. 

_Mine._

Rey playfully shoved Father Kylo down onto his back and straddled him, intertwining her fingers with his. With her free hand, she held an uncorked glass bottle of altar wine she found in a cabinet collecting dust, forgotten there amongst the realm of religious relics. She thought it a pity for it to go to waste. Hence, she drank from it, rather eagerly because some of it spilled from her lips.

Father Kylo watched the wine run down her skin, mesmerized by the small route it took down her chin, her neck, and between her breasts. Down, down, down—his cock throbbed. 

"Did you like my tricks, priest?" she teased, interrupting his trance; she put the bottle down. "Did I best that woman you bedded all those years ago?" 

With the strength of a brutish bull, he flipped her on her back and lifted her leg, wrapping it around his waist. "What was that?" 

"Did you...did you like my tricks?" she asked again, a bit breathlessly. 

He grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head and inched closer, tortuously slow. "Did I like your tricks? Is that what you are asking?" 

Rey felt his cock harden against her as their sweaty and sticky bodies touched. 

"I very much enjoyed your tricks," he finally answered, his voice low, guttural. "The first time—" he nudged his nose against hers and offered a toothy grin, one of mischief—"And the second time—" he leaned in and suddenly licked the wine off between Rey's breasts, becoming drunk off her, intoxicated—"And the third time." He kissed her breasts, her neck, the side of her face, and then he pressed his mouth hard against hers and devoured her until there was nothing left of them both. 

* * *

Crickets sang their song in the dark. And inside the church, Father Kylo and Rey stared up at the cracked ceiling. They lay on the floor, in each other's arms, not necessarily looking for answers in the chipped paint, or searching for something insignificant to say like a dispassionate remark on the status of the slightly weathered church or the creepy statues. There was no reason to disturb the universe and fill it with paper-thin promises and falsities. 

Everything had a meaning, a weight. 

Everything was precious—the hand-holding, the caresses, the kisses, the being together. 

And yet there was a certain sadness in Father Kylo, consequence to his years as the star pupil of Archbishop Snoke, that made him think himself unworthy of such happiness, of lying naked with Rey and holding her. He sat up and ran his hands through his hair. 

Rey reached for him, tracing her finger up and down his spine, her touch calming. "What's wrong?"

"If we only have this one night…" he whispered. 

"We'll have more." 

He looked down at her, unsure of what to make of her certainty. But the way she smiled at him….

"You're insatiable," he said, falling back onto the floor and flinging his arm over his eyes. 

She scrunched up her face at him. "I prefer the term hopeful." 

His lips unhidden stretched into a small smile. "A minx is what you are." 

"And you know what you are, priest?" 

"What?" 

"My hope," she said and felt small, like a mouse caught in a trap. 

_There. I've said it._

She could not take back the words, not that she wanted to; she refused to take them back. She had kept the words a secret for so long she had to share them, whether or not Father Kylo wanted to hear them. 

He had to hear them because, at some time, she didn't know when, he slipped underneath her skin and made the _bad,_ the _ugly_ inside her powerless. He somehow lessened the pain she carried inside her with his bright presence, his light, his embraces, his kisses, his talk, and his smiles. Her Ben, who didn't necessarily fix her; no one could. There was something there now, near her heart, an airy feeling of flying, of happiness, that made life bearable again. 

So no. There was no taking back the words. 

Father Kylo sighed and brought her closer to him. 

She snuggled up to him and shut her eyes, her eyelids suddenly heavy. She smiled. "You...you fucking priest." 

He laughed, and it was a glorious sound. 

* * *

They decided they could not live in the church forever. They had to go back to their guarded lives as a priest and art schoolteacher and not as lovers before an unsuspecting pair of eyes beheld them naked in church, a scandal if ever discovered. 

And so they gathered their clothes and began to dress each other. It was not a separate activity, where they had done what they did, and that was it. There was more to it. 

Rey looped his belt for him and buttoned his shirt, and he clasped her bra for her and rolled up her stockings for her, not before fingering the hole he discovered in them. 

He looked up at her, amused. 

"I'm a mess," she told him, letting him help her into her ruffled-up dress. 

It was an intimacy of reclothing one another, to have seen each other naked and vulnerable, to be seen, and choosing to stay, accepting the familiarity, the wanting long after the fucking, the unraveling, and putting back together again.

Rey had never known such an understanding, a closeness. 

When they were both dressed, they kissed. 

It was not a kiss of desperation, but a kiss of promise. 

"Good night, Rey." 

"Good night, Ben." 

* * *

Rey walked back to the asylum alone and stared up at the stars in wonder as children do when seeing them for the first time. The possibilities she saw, the countless dazzling dreams.

If Rey wanted to, she could reach out and grab a handful of stars and pluck them from the sky like figs from a tree and keep them safe, these wonders. And she wouldn't be less happy when the stars died because they had brought her great joy this night. 

It was enough. 

Paintbrushes and paint to create. Friends to drink with and laugh. Hands to hold her. And a sky full of stars. 

_It was enough._

_Finally._

She touched her achy cheeks and laughed; she couldn't stop smiling. She must look like a silly schoolgirl. 

_Fucking Force._

Rey neared the asylum, and she looked up and saw movement in a second-story window, a figure standing there, fingers curling around the curtains, pushing them aside to look out, to look down at her. 

_Sister Leia._

If Rey held a mirror up to the Mother Superior, she would find not the sister's reflection. But one of the faces of her pain—a rotten thing with a twisted mouth full of words that had cut deep, fists of apathy that had rendered her immobile and doubtful, an unlovable presence with sharp teeth that knew to take and not give. 

The two women stared at each other, fixed in a battle that knew no winners. 

Rey lit a cigarette and took a drag and decided no one had the power to take her happiness, not even Sister Leia. 

She smiled once more. 

She didn't bother turning on the light when she entered her room. She climbed into bed and hid under the covers and began to laugh in the dark. 

"I fucked a priest," she whispered. 

And when laughter left her lips, she shut her eyes and drifted into sleep, and how she slept well that night. 


	29. Office Hours

The dining hall was loud as ever, and Rey was very close to getting up, grabbing her bowl of cereal of soppy cornflakes and hiding in a closet; there, at least, she would find quiet. 

“You're grumpy this morning,” Rose noted, pointing her spoon at Rey, as oatmeal dripped from it. 

“Aren’t I always?” 

“But you also hummed when I stopped by your room to get you for breakfast.” 

“And?” 

“You. Hummed.” 

Rey shrugged. “So I hum from time to time. Is that a crime?” 

Rose raised an eyebrow at her and went about finishing the rest of her breakfast.

Rey picked up her cup of coffee. “And you?” 

“And me, what?” 

“You’re quite  _ contemplative _ this morning?” 

Rose’s cheeks reddened. “I’m thinking of all the essays I’ll have to read this afternoon.” 

“Uh-huh.” Rey narrowed her eyes and smirked. “Ms. Tico, I call your bluff.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’ve been quiet since your last date with Finn. Did something happen?” 

“No. I have another date tonight.” 

“Well, you’ve been giving your bowl of oatmeal the death-stare all morning. Something’s the matter.” 

“Nothing is the matter.” 

“ _ Nothing. _ ”

Rose pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s nothing. Besides, what’s happening to  _ you _ ?” 

“What?” 

“Something I can’t exactly pinpoint...Something’s happened to you.” 

“It’s nothing.” 

“Well, I call  _ your _ bluff.” 

The two friends eventually gave up their tactics of uncovering each other’s secrets. And they went about the rest of breakfast in silence: Rey drank the entirety of her coffee, staring fixedly at the portrait of the first Mother Superior on the wall, and Rose stabbed a slice of grapefruit with a fork. The complete chaos in the room intensified. 

_ Force, help me.  _

She needed relief, and she knew where to go and who to see. 

* * *

  
  


“There you are,” Father Kylo said, smiling, as Rey entered his office and shut the door behind her, locking it. 

_ Here I am.  _

She leaned back against the door and immediately hitched up her dress just above her knees with purpose. “How was your morning, Father?” she asked, feigning innocence. 

His right eye twitched. “Lonely.” 

She sauntered over to his desk, tantalizingly moving her hips. She could see the accusation in his dark eyes— _ Tease.  _ In truth, she wasn’t much interested in how Father Kylo had spent his morning or how his class went or bothered to indulge him with how her morning went; her mind was elsewhere; her body was wanting, searching for his body. 

“I know the best remedy for loneliness.” 

“Do you?” The smile on Father Kylo’s face did not fade; it grew. 

_ A good fucking, Father _ —

He clasped his hands together. “Whatever you have in mind,” he said, interrupting her thoughts, “must unfortunately wait.” He picked up a pen and hunched over his desk, smoothing out a page of a book. 

Rey frowned. 

“What?” 

He didn’t look up. 

_ Have I lost the power to seduce? My...my seductive skills aren’t suddenly for shit, are they? Do I not beguile, dammit?  _

“ _ What? _ ” 

“I’m in the middle of work,” he explained. 

“Work?” 

“Well, writing. You see, writing comes and goes for me. Sometimes, I write page after page of a salvageable story, and I have to remind myself to take a break and eat something. And then other times, I can’t, for the life of me, string together words to form a simple sentence. You caught me in the middle of a sprint.” 

“I’m not wearing any panties, priest.” 

“Rey,” he growled; it was a final warning. 

Rey placed her hands on his desk and sighed. “Fine. I won’t dare disturb a genius at work.” 

He snorted. 

“But, I am curious.” She walked around his desk and looked over his shoulder to find him scribbling down words in his dirty book she had previously  _ borrowed.  _ “Writing one of your naughty stories?” 

He blushes. “Perhaps.” 

“Was the other night an inspiration?” 

He leaned back in his leather chair and looked up at her. “You’re relentless.” 

“Am I your muse?” 

“You’re impossible.” 

“As an artist, I’m rarely, if ever, someone’s muse. It’s quite strange.” 

“Is it?” 

She grinned. “I’m flattered.” 

“And I’m enthused.” 

“Father, am I distracting you from your work?” 

“No. Not at all,” Father Kylo sarcastically drawled. 

She strategically placed her hands on his shoulders and bent a little to nibble at his ear. “I’ll be a good girl. I promise.” 

He stiffened. 

_ Ah, my seduction skills are still impeccable. Thank you very much.  _

Father Kylo slowly recovered. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “Temptress,” he muttered.

He went back to work, but it was only his return to his writing when a brilliant idea came to her. 

She had no time to think her plan over. She cleared her throat and said, “Mind if I take a look.” 

Without warning, Rey plopped down on the unsuspecting priest’s lap and picked up his book. He froze, and she secretly delighted in his reaction. She wiggled her bum against him until she was comfortable, and she began to read; she even began to hum. 

It was a sound that sent Father Kylo over the edge. 

“Rey.” His voice had gone rough, deep like dark waters. 

“Yes, Father,” she answered. 

His right hand fisted the front of her dress; his left gripped her hip. “How do you like the story?” 

She wiggled again, feeling the unmistakable bulge that tented the front of his pants. “My honest opinion?” 

“Yes,” he said, spreading her legs with his tree-trunk sized thigh. 

“I read the same line ten times. I suppose I’m a bit distracted— _ Oh! _ ” He unzipped the back of her dress and yanked it down to her waist lightning-quick, exposing her breasts.

“I know all about distractions, sweetheart.” 

There must have been a draft in the office, a cracked window open maybe because she shivered. 

_ Oh, fuck.  _

He palmed her breasts, and the warmth there proved agreeable. His rough pinching of her stiff nipples was also a pleasant surprise, the rubbing and pulling, the friction making her pussy wet. She squeezed her eyes shut, losing herself to his touch. 

“You promised to be a good girl.” 

She gulped. “A little white lie isn’t a big sin, Father.” 

He lifted her off of his lap and bent her over his desk. “But lust is,” he whispered in her ear. He cupped her sex, his fingers furiously rubbing her clit, and Rey moaned, pressing her forehead against the table. 

“Fuck me, Father,” she panted, her body coming to life like a live-wire, heating up with desire. “Please.” 

“Good girls who tell lies don’t get cock, Rey.” Father Kylo undid his belt and unzipped his slacks. “Will you be a good girl?” 

“Yes, Father,” she gasped. “Yes, I’ll be a good girl.”

He took her from behind and thrust, slamming hard, pushing in and out of her wet cunt, faster and faster. 

An overload of sensation took over Rey’s senses. She was unable to think or care about the world outside his office. All she was able to do was feel. And she felt his cock driving hard inside her, and his one hand working at her clit, his other hand cupping her cheek. She turned her head to kiss his calloused palm, moving against him, rocking her hips, wanting to feel full, wanting him deep inside her, wanting him. Only him. She felt her pleasure growing, unfurling like a flower in Spring—

She cried out into his palm as she came. An explosion of ecstasy that rendered her weak. 

It didn’t take long before Father Kylo came, his salty release coating her backside. He slumped on top of her and kissed her neck. “Good girl,” he whispered. 

Rey smiled. 

* * *

  
  
  


Later that night, Rose barged into Rey’s room, holding a half-empty bottle of vodka, and declared, “You fucked the priest.” 

Rey felt like a deer in headlights, frozen in place, unsure whether to run or hide. 

_ Fuck me.  _

Her eyes widened. 

_ FUCK ME.  _

She didn’t necessarily want to deflect from the truth, but the rock diamond ring on her friend’s finger grabbed her attention. “Is that...Is that an engagement ring, Rose?” 

The color in Rose’s cheeks drained. She groaned. “Get out the glasses, Rey. We’re drinking tonight.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Horny Rey has the best ideas...


	30. Revelations and a Bottle of Vodka

“I can’t believe you. I can’t believe you fucked the priest.” Rose paused. “No. You know what? I do believe it. I’m  _ not _ surprised. You would’ve, even if I didn’t tell you not to fuck the priest because, well—” she waved her hand around—“I’m not surprised, at all.” 

Rey hiccuped. “How did you figure it out?” 

“I saw you coming out of his office. You had the I-Was-Properly-Fucked look on your face.” 

“And what about you, Miss-I’m-Engaged-Now? When did this happen? How did it happen? And my Force, that’s a big fucking rock!” 

Rose fell back onto the floor and sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “I didn’t think he would.”

“Propose?” 

“Yes. The other day, he told me we needed to talk, and I thought, ‘Well, here it is, Rose. He wants out.’” 

“So, that’s why you were so thinky in the morning.” 

“Thinky?” Rose shook her head and lifted her empty glass, and Rey filled it accordingly. “Then tonight happened, and Finn took me out to dance. We were having so much fun, laughing, and drinking. And then he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.” 

“And?”

“I vomited all over his shoes.” 

“You did not!” 

“I did!” 

Rey couldn’t help it. She fell back, clutching her belly, uncontrollable laughter spilling from her mouth. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” Rose protested, but she even couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “I was nervous.” 

“And then?”

“And then, he cleaned up my mess and asked again, and I said, ‘Yes.’” 

They were silent for a while. Only for a while. 

“Rey?” Rose turned on her side to face her friend, and she whispered, “I really love him.” 

“I know you do.” 

“I thought we would have more time, you and I.” Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. “Us, growing old and cantankerous and drunk. What about our little island?” 

“You’ll have your own island with Finn.” 

“I’m so happy.” 

“I’m happy you're happy. That’s all I want for you—happiness, pure bliss.”

“Are you happy?” 

Rey smiled. “Yes.” 

“Good. Because if you’re not, I’ll punch that good-looking priest right in the balls.” 

“I don’t doubt you, not one bit.” 

And the two friends drank the night away, laughing and dreaming. 


	31. Truth is Four Letters

The morning in the bridal shop in the bustling city was a blur of metamorphosis. A transformation after a transformation. A series of changes with little criticisms of why a specific dress wasn’t the right one: this one’s train was too long; this one’s lace was a bit too much; the sleeves on this one were stifling, too tight; too much puff on this one; this one didn’t have enough puff. Rey lost count after the eleventh wedding dress Rose tried on. Had they surpassed the eighteenth dress now? The nineteenth? The twentieth? She wasn’t entirely sure; she was, however, sure she was on her third cigarette; that was about it. The poor wedding dress consultant also had not a clue; she had even given up her chase after the future bride who took it upon herself to look for _it,_ for the right one, the right dress. 

All Rey could think to say with certainty whenever asked for her opinion every time Rose stepped out from the dressing room and onto the small platform in front of the three-way wall mirror was a simple, one-worded answer: _Beautiful._

And sitting on the velvety couch, Rey couldn’t hide her excitement. 

“Well? How do I look?” 

“Beautiful.” 

“Yes. And?” 

“And..." Rey stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. “You look perfect. Finn is going to lose his shit.” 

“I don’t feel perfect,” Rose grumbled. She smoothed the front of the dress she tried on this round, palming the restrictive corset that felt more like a deathtrap and turned her back on her reflection in the mirrors. She stepped down the platform, clawing at her torso. “Ahh! Damn corsets! Damn them!” she yelled. 

Rey nodded. “Birdcages for our bodies.” 

“Where can I find a fairy godmother to magically poof me a beautiful dress and send me on my way to a happily-ever-after?” 

“In fairy-tales,” Rey answered. She got to her feet and stood in front of Rose, clamping her hands down on her friend’s shoulders. “Breathe, Rose. We’ll find the one. No worries.” 

Rose took heed of her friend’s advice and decided on a new strategy in finding the perfect dress. She squeezed her eyes shut, stuck her hand out, her pointer finger at aim, and spun around. After the seventh spin, she suddenly stopped, opened her eyes, and followed her gaze to where her pointer finger aimed: an off-the-shoulder ball-gown. 

Rose was not quite dismissive of the dress, nor was she deliriously happy, but there was something...something there, something special. 

“What do you think?” 

Rey eyed the dress on the rack. “Why not?” she said. “I like it.” 

The wedding dress consultant sighed. 

“How do you feel?” Rey asked as Rose stepped onto the platform, wearing the dress picked in sheer luck. 

Rose wasn’t quick to answer. She was quiet for a while, taking in the sight of herself in a wedding dress, of all things. 

_I am getting married,_ she thought. 

A smile broke across her face. 

“Perfect.” 

* * *

  
  
  


At lunch, in a loud, stuffy restaurant, Rose and Rey ate their meals, and in between bites, guessed the lives of the unsuspecting guests around them, a game they happened to play when venturing beyond the village and into the bigger world that was the city, a back and forth of ‘Sweaty forehead. Nervous laughter. Lack of eye contact. They’re on their first date,’ and ‘Ordered the lobster…Hmmm...She is a wealthy widow living her best life.’ It was silly, a nice distraction, a repainting of lives not their own. 

Rose stabbed at a piece of lettuce, scanned the crowd, and inconspicuously pointed her fork at the couple in the dining hall’s back corner. “What about them?” she asked. 

Rey snuck a glance and said, “Illicit love affair.” 

“How can you tell?” 

Rey shrugged. 

The couple in question had been sitting at the table in the back for an hour now. The couple’s movements were careful, their hands inching across the tabletop ever so slowly to barely brush fingertips. When that proved too much, they busied themselves in drinking an entire bottle of wine the waiter had brought them, not a word spoken between them. And Rey couldn’t help but notice a conversation, while not verbally, was happening with their eyes, secrets exchanged in glances, the pouring of their souls told in looks. 

“It’s all in the eyes.” 

Rose sighed. “The eyes never tell a lie.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“What do you think will become of them?” 

“I imagine they’ll have a passionate night of love-making, and in the morning, they will shake hands, bid their goodbyes, and never see one another again.” 

“What a bleak ending.” 

“Maybe they’ll reunite in ten years.” 

Their server then appeared and offered them each a dessert menu. Rey, licking her lips, looked over the delicious sweets listed on the menu and decided on a chocolate cake, to no surprise to Rose, who shook her head and ordered the classic tiramisu. They handed over the menus, and when the server finally left them in their small world of silverware and stained napkins and surrounding strangers with lives of their own, a seriousness fell over them, a sudden heaviness. Rose frowned, feeling the weightiness of the moment, and fidgeted with her engagement ring. 

“Not having any doubts, are you?” Rey asked, her voice a bit small. 

“No.” 

“What’s the matter then?” 

“What will become of you and your priest?” Rose said, her voice equally small. “You’re happy now. What about tomorrow? And the next day? 

Rey looked down. “I don’t know.” 

“Have you talked about the future with him?” 

“No.” 

“And what if you’re found out? Do you think Sister Leia will approve? She’ll have you out faster than you flip her off.” 

The server returned with their desserts and quickly retreated to attend to a family three tables down from them. Rey’s first bite of her chocolate cake tasted bitter in her mouth, a joyless nibble. She pushed her plate away. Rose ate in silence. 

They finally paid and exited the restaurant, and they walked down the sidewalk, side by side, strangers with blurry faces moving past them. They made their way to the bus stop and stood there, waiting for their bus to return to Amidala Asylum and Academy. And in their wait, Rey confessed. 

“It’s more than sex,” she said carefully. “More than lust. More than a bite of the forbidden fruit. It’s the way I am when I’m with him—” she lights a cigarette—“I’m selfish, wanting his attention for myself and no one else, and he gives it, listens to my nonsense and my no-nonsense, laughs, shakes his head and smiles. I’m protective—I want to hurt those who hurt him; I feel such rage, such violence sometimes, a fierce possessiveness. I want the world to burn for hurting him, but sometimes I don’t feel strong enough to light the match. When he holds me though, and I feel small in his arms, I find strength; I wrap my arms around him, and I hold him, and it’s enough. I’m delirious with desire, and well, he doesn’t shy away from my touch. I’m vulgar, and he blushes. I’m free, even when he holds my hand, and I’m in place. I’m all these things, Rose. He sees me. And he’s here. He’s still here.” 

Rose helped herself to Rey’s cigarette and took a drag. “You love him.” 

It was such a simple observation, a truth that rang in Rey’s head like church bells. 

Rey sighed. “I love him, dammit.” 

_Fucking priest._


	32. Rapture

“Sit still, Father,” Rey said without tearing her eyes from the canvas set before her. 

It was a lazy afternoon in the art studio, a messy scene: of glass jars filled with dirty water, blank canvases stacked against the wall, dirty rags flung about the table, paintbrushes lined up for use, and dried paint stains on skin, her skin, and Father Kylo, sprawled out as he was on the chaise lounge, unsure how to position his large body, where to place his hands, to what degree to tilt his head back. He looked to her, not for guidance, but out of a primal hunger, studying her movements, the way her eyes studied him. He wanted to break free from this imposed stillness. He wanted to move, wrap his arms around her tiny waist, and plant kisses all along her neck. 

“How long must I sit still?” he asked, tapping his finger against his thigh. 

Rey raised an eyebrow at him. “Impatient, are we now?” 

“Patience is a virtue I’ve yet to master.” 

“Well, good things come to those who wait.” 

“And what good things are to come, Rey?” 

“Shh,” she said, leaning close to the canvas, absorbed in her creation of colors, smudges, and lines. All thoughts had gone. Her eyes only saw Ben: his jaw, his adorable ears, his nose, his moles, his eyes. She saw him as he was—divine, worthy, beautiful. 

So immersed in her work, Rey failed to notice Father Kylo left his spot on the lounge and wandered without detection behind her desk. Like a magnet, he gravitated towards her, standing behind her. His one hand rested on her hip, his other pushing her long hair over her shoulder to kiss her neck. She quickly covered the canvas with a sheet before he could look. 

“Father,” she warned, but there was no threat; there was a playfulness, a giddiness. 

“Yes?” 

“Sit.” 

He groaned and went back to sit upon the lounge, the very awful place that separated her from him.

She grinned, putting down her paintbrush. “Frustrated, Father?” she said. 

“You’ll be the death of me. I knew it then. I know it now.” 

“Me?” 

He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Yes, you.” 

“You wound me.”

“I could do other things to you.” 

Rey bit her lip. She hopped off her stool, and went to him, and he watched her move, no shyness in her steps, watched her sit on his lap, watched her straddle him. She kissed him, her lips to his anchoring him in place. 

“I take good care of you,” she whispered, breathless. “Don’t I take good care of you?” 

“Yes.” He tightened his arms around her, pressing his forehead against hers. “Yes, you do.” 

“You deserve to be taken care of.” 

“ _You_ deserve the world.” 

“Don’t want the world, Ben. Just you.” 

“You have me.” 

“Now. Now, I have you.” She caressed his cheek. “We have to talk.” 

“About?” 

“About the Archbishop.” 

“Archbishop Snoke? What about him?” 

“He has to pay for what he did to you.” 

Father Kylo leaned his head back against the lounge and stared up at the ceiling. He wouldn’t find answers there. But he needed to look elsewhere; he couldn’t meet her eyes, where pain and anger and concern were shown so clearly, like a mirror to what he felt, all this time. 

“He will.” 

“Ben, he abused his power. He needs to be punished.” 

“I know. I’m not the only one who has endured his _wrath._ Others have come forward. And there has been talk of him stepping down, of a favorite, Bishop Poe, taking his place.” 

“Will he step down willingly?” 

Father Kylo’s smile was small. “He’ll fight to keep his power, but in the end, he’ll fall.” 

“And what will happen to us? I mean, you’ve said before: this is inappropriate.” 

“It is,” he said with a hint of mischief in his eyes. His hands slowly slipped underneath Rey’s dress and stopped at her thighs, where he proceeded to rub his thumbs in a circular motion, setting her skin there on fire. 

She shifted forward and felt his erection. _Oh..._ She shut her eyes. “Will you...Will you step down?” 

“Do you want me to step down?” he asked, kissing her jawline, his hands moving upward, tugging at her panties, pulling them down. 

She steadied herself, lifted her one leg, then the other to take them. _Of all the days to wear panties,_ she thought, resettling herself in Father Kylo’s lap. She began to grind her bare cunt against him, growing wet, delirious in wanting him, shamelessly chasing pleasure. 

“Rey?” 

“Hmmm.” 

“I asked you a question.” 

“I just don’t want to be alone anymore,” she said and unzipped his pants, wrapping her hands around his cock, stroking him up and down. She relentlessly pumped him, grounding herself against him while he palmed at her dress and pulled it over her head, throwing it across the studio. He leaned forward, cupping her one breast and sucking the nipple of the other. She threw her head back, letting him go, to tangle her fingers in his hair. 

_Closer. I want to be closer._

And as if he were listening to her thoughts, attuned to her desire, he entered her— _More, more, more_ —and slid all the way in, filling her. 

_Is this close enough,_ he seemed to be asking with his eyes. 

She threw her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder, kissing his neck as he thrust hard inside her with urgency, going deep, faster, lost in the sweet sounds of her moaning, awakened by her sensual touches. Her body was sacred, the swiveling of her hips an unprofane dance. She moved with him, together, reveling with the feeling of the other. 

After their passion dwindled to heavy breathing, they sat there, still holding onto one another, their hands finding one another. 

“You’re not alone,” he promised. 

“Neither are you.” 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of smut....A bit of fluff = true balance lol 
> 
> Anyways, hoped you enjoy these two latest updates ❤


	33. Rose's Philosophy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy reading ❤️

Finn stood amongst the gray tombstones in the cemetery on the asylum grounds, staring down at one stone in particular with a name that had become a personal albatross, more burdensome than the stethoscope he wore around his neck at the clinic. He was holding a plain flower, purchased earlier that day from a friendly vendor at the flea market, and he held it like a visitor approaching a shrine with a shy offering to appease a vengeful spirit. 

He wanted a calmness one feels with each new day, a sense of peace. Peace was always the plea. The asking price...an intolerable silence, seeds of doubt, a dangerous hope. 

In the beginning, Finn wished for peace, not thinking much about what it truly meant or what the cost of asking was. He wished for this. He wished for the faces to go away, the faces with the unblinking eyes staring at him, always him. 

But now? How could he forget? 

Who was left to remember them? 

_ Remember: people need people.  _

And there it was. 

After the silence between thoughts, the affirmation, the thought that was not Finn’s nor did it belong to him. The memory that stayed with him for so long.

It was wrapped in the ugly word: war. 

War when Finn was a kid—not entirely a child, yet not entirely a young adult—made the world small, fashioned into someone’s fist of violence. It was a mosaic of bombed houses and buildings, of horses on fire, of no food and empty bellies, of children crying out for their mothers, their fathers, of new graves, and many bodies. War was no longer having a family because they were killed. War was receiving a number—FN-2187. War was a collapsed building, and a stranger pulling children out from underneath the rubble. War was a scared boy holding onto the stranger, asking the stranger for kindness, and the stranger telling him,  _ Remember: people need people.  _

Finn lived through such a war and after the war, grew up, studied medicine, opened up a small clinic in a small village, fell in love, and planned to live happily. But the stranger’s words haunted him. 

And the war lingered behind closed eyelids. 

The old memories floated in Finn’s mind often, resurfacing whenever in the quiet, and new memories, new faces, too, faces he could never let go or forget, like the woman he could not save. 

The woman once called Marian. 

  
  


“Finn!” Rey called out, juggling a box of dull-pointed pencils, erasers, and sharpeners, and large sketchbooks in her arms. Her students ran ahead of her and back to the asylum for lunch like a pack of rowdy roadrunners. She realized he had not heard her. She screamed his name louder, and only then did he startle. 

“Lost in a daydream?” she asked him when she neared. 

“More like lost in memories.” 

She smiled, but it was a sad smile, full of sorrow. For a long time, all she had were memories and fantasies and ghosts, and she dwelled in that unreal landscape, lost, afraid, desiring to be found. She understood. 

Rey cleared her throat. “Here for Rose, I take it.” 

“I promised to take her away from this ‘place of torment,’ as she poetically puts it, for a few hours. You?” 

“Ah, decided to have class outside today since it’s so nice out. We just wrapped up.” 

They then fell silent, both looking down at the tombstone with the name that haunted them both. 

Silence could not rob them of words forever. 

“You know,” Finn began. “I became a doctor because I wanted to save people. Maybe it’s selfish even, because it feels good, helping others, having someone look at you and put all this faith on you, having people rely on you and believe in you. Or maybe it’s a wake-up call, to live, because the thing is, you can’t save everyone.” He bent down to place the flower on Marian’s grave and sighed. “The people you can’t save, the people who are lost to you, well, you carry that with you. You feel the weight of it. But you still hope that you can save them. You hope, and you realize you’re still here, just like everyone else.” 

And Rey saw the faces: of the woman and the motherless girl and the mother she would never know. She saw all these faces and felt all this sadness. Nothing could be done to bring any of them back. 

But to keep hope was something of a miracle. 

Finn smirked. “Paraphrasing our dear Rose at the end, her go-to saying: ‘Saving what we love.’” 

“The hope enthusiast of the trio.” Rey smiled. 

_ People need people.  _

Rey nudged Finn with her shoulder. “Come on,” she said, and they walked back to Amidala Asylum, and they took their time. 

And before entering through the front doors, Finn turned to Rey, a bit nervous. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Shoot.”

“This must be kept a secret.” 

Rey pledged her secrecy: “I swear I won’t tell a soul. Cross my heart and hope to die.” 

Finn was satisfied. He looked to his surroundings and made sure no one was in earshot. When he felt the coast was clear to reveal whatever it was he wanted to disclose, he said, “I want to do something for Rose. A gift of sorts. I was thinking. Maybe, you could paint her a picture of Paige. If you’re up to the task.” 

“That’s a wonderful idea. Rose will love it.” 

“You think so?” 

“I’m sure of it.” 

“So, you’ll do it then?” 

“Of course, I will, you sappy romantic.” 

“Bite your tongue, Rey. One day, you’ll fall in love, too.” 

Rey played along. “You think so?” 

“All I’m saying is, we can brave the world better if we have someone standing next to us.” 

They stepped inside, the weight they carried feeling a bit less now, although still there, but they moved more freely and waited without the fear of aloneness. 

Rose soon appeared, running down the hall, a stack of papers pressed against her chest. “Finn!” she shouted, and still she ran, rushing past them. “Give me a minute!” 

“You’re a mess, Ms. Tico,” Rey yelled after her. 

Rose lifted her middle finger at her before disappearing around the corner. Finn and Rey laughed. 

* * *

  
  


Rose had yet to return from her date with Finn, so Rey decided to eat dinner alone in the big kitchen. She sat on the kitchen island with a plate of food in her lap, the noise in the dining hall barely audible. While the dining hall was always full of faces, none looked at her, saw her. And small talk hurt too much because loneliness stung with each word. Father Kylo had to be distant, had to sit far away from her. 

_ It doesn’t matter,  _ she thought, biting down on a piece of chicken.  _ A bit of solitude will do you good.  _ As she sat there, she thought of the painting Finn tasked her with, what colors she would use, what design, what form—

She sensed him. She knew it was him, just by how her body responded: her hands stilling, her heart beating faster. 

When Father Kylo entered the kitchen with an empty pitcher, their eyes locked, and a natural dialogue where words were not needed commenced, the longing in their eyes louder than their voices would ever be. Although Rey was practically forcing herself not to say anything, they said nothing.

He wandered over to the sink, turned on the faucet, and filled the pitcher with water, and Rey leaned back on the one hand and continued to eat, legs swinging back and forth. 

But then he moved away from the sink, and she felt him near her, his fingers lightly caressing her knuckles. 

It was such an innocent touch, yet his touch burned her skin. 

“Outside,” he said. 

It only took one word to render her helpless under his spell. It only took the sound of his voice to kindle the fire inside her chest. 

She smiled and watched him go. 

It was dark out. It was a lovely night. 

Rey paced back and forth, a cigarette between her pointer and middle finger, waiting. She didn’t wait long. 

Father Kylo found her in the dark, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing his face against her neck. “You abandoned me to the vultures.” 

She smirked. “Needed a bit of solitude. And besides,” she said, turning around. “Sister Leia is excellent company.” 

“Now you’re teasing.” 

“Me? Never. I would never, ever,  _ ever _ tease you, Father.” 

He backed her against the wall, stealing the cigarette from her, and he took a drag. “You had me looking for you in the dining hall.” 

“Can’t stay away, can you? Tsk, tsk.” 

He flicked the cigarette to the ground and pressed his mouth to hers, the kiss hungry, lustful, passionate. Unlike most of his kisses, it was not a promise. It was a seal of his desire for her, his wanting of her. It was their hands exploring each other. It was heavy breathing that translated into a million  _ Mine, mine, mine.  _

His mouth left hers too soon, and Rey whined. 

“Greedy thing, aren’t you?” 

“Selfish with your kisses, aren’t you?” 

He chuckled. “In all seriousness, I wanted to talk to you." 

"So talk." 

"I was thinking, if I step down, what would we do? What would I do? This is all I know,” he said, tugging at his clerical collar. 

“I can paint. And you can write and sell your erotic stories.” 

“You know, I used to, back when I was in the war. I wrote short stories and exchanged them for cigarettes. They were a big hit.” 

“Solved one problem for you. What’s next?” 

“Where would we go?” 

Rey’s face softened. “To the island,” she whispered. 

“The island?” 

“Well, it can be. I always dreamed of running away to this island, this place by the sea. It’s my dream. I’ll share my dream with you. We can go to this place. It could belong to us.” 

He cupped her face with his hands. “I think I’ve had an epiphany. Just now.” 

“About?” 

“It doesn’t matter what we do or where we go.” 

“It doesn’t?” 

“Wherever we go, you’ll always be my home.” 

_ People need people.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt particularly mushy and soft when writing this, so....I hoped everyone enjoyed this chapter!  
> Anyways, until next time.  
> Much love❤️


	34. Kneel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long in updating 😬 But I'm back, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

When Rey was young, she had trouble sleeping. Her eyelids would never grow heavy after saying goodnight to all the sisters. Even after Sister Holdo would give her a glass of milk every night before bed and she would ceremoniously dump it into the pot where a plastic plant stood tall and proud and gave the illusion of _home_ every night, she still could not sleep _._ Nor would Rey ever yawn when counting sheep or making shadows of bunnies on the walls with her hands. She lay there, the moon, a shining disc in the night sky, casting its light through the ceiling-to-floor windows and into the room she shared with the other orphans, and dream with her eyes wide open. 

She would dream of hearing her father’s voice—a harsh voice, a voice lost in the howling wind, an easily forgotten voice

She would dream of her faceless mother, making out in detail the woman’s eyes or the woman’s nose or the woman’s mouth, but her mother’s face only ever came to her in small pieces. She would stay awake, trying to put the pieces back together again as if she were fussing over a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle. Most of the pieces were missing. 

_Who am I?_ she would think. _Who am I?_

Other nights, a girl whose name Rey could no longer remember had kept her awake instead, screaming her head off because she couldn’t sleep on account of the nightmares of supposed monsters lurking in the dark, tickling her feet and tugging her hair. Of course, there were no monsters, and the sisters couldn’t do much but claim the girl had a vivid imagination. When the sisters would leave, Rey would check for the so-called monsters underneath the girl’s bed. 

She never found any. 

But the thing was, Rey had realized years later monsters were very much real. 

They had friendly faces. Sometimes, they wore fancy robes and held power tightly in their fists, unwilling to let it go. 

Sometimes, the monster stood in front of you, a wolf in sheepskin, and smiled. 

“Miss Rey, always a pleasure,” Archbishop Snoke said curtly. He stood in between Sister Leia and Sister Holdo like a misplaced statue and extended his hand out, as he usually did, for her to kiss it. 

The gesture seemed harmless. A superficial performance of a religious player of the Force. It was certainly no olive branch or a sign of respect. It was a sign of corruption—a ruthless game of domination and idol worship. He was to be revered and praised by all. Respected. 

He was to be feared. 

His eyes told Rey so: _Fear me, girl._

She narrowed her eyes at him. 

She would not fear anyone. 

She was not to feel small. 

_Fuck you._

“My apologies, Your Excellency. But I’m coming down with a cold.” She covered her mouth with a tissue and faked a cough into it. “Wouldn’t want you to catch anything. Force forbid it.” 

Sister Holdo suddenly took a peculiar interest in the long crack in the ceiling, desperately stifling her laughter. Sister Leia, on the other hand, looked unamused. Her eyes were shut, and she was pinching the bridge of her nose. 

Archbishop Snoke dropped his hand. “Yes, how very _thoughtful_ of you.” He looked unamused as well. 

Rey smiled. “The sisters here raised me well.” 

Sister Leia snorted. 

“Compassion is strongly encouraged,” Sister Holdo quickly added, swooping in. “This way, Archbishop.” 

And that was the end of the interaction, but Rey felt the words left unspoken lingering in the air, polluting it, her anger, her disgust spreading across her body like a wildfire. She watched Archbishop Snoke take his place between Sister Leia and a paler than usual and tense Father Kylo, and after sitting across from Rose and breakfast was served to all, she couldn’t control it. 

_Monster, monster, monster,_ she repeatedly thought, slicing up her syrup-drenched pancake into an unrecognizable mess on her plate. _Monster._

“You’re in a murderous mood this morning,” Rose noted, pointing her fork at Rey’s massacred breakfast. 

“What is _he_ doing here?” 

“Who? Archbishop Snoke?” 

“Yes.” 

“I don’t know,” Rose said and turned to the all-knowing Zorii. “Have you any idea why Archbishop Snoke has graced us with his presence? Inquiring minds want to know.” 

“He’s come for the festival this weekend,” Zorii answered without skipping a beat. 

Amidala Asylum and Academy organized a festival to raise money to keep the convent and orphanage operating every year. Carnival games, food, and music. A rather good time, a pleasant interruption to the mundanity of everyday life. 

“He hasn’t before,” Rey said. 

Zorii poured a pack of sugar into her coffee and stirred it with a crooked spoon. “Word is Archbishop Snoke has become quite unpopular.” 

“What do you mean?” Rose asked. 

“Rumors of abuse of power. Too far-leaning into the Dark Side. So now, he’s backpedaling, attempting to get in everyone’s good graces. Give a little attention here and there. A little money. And Force knows we need whatever we can get our hands on to stay open.” 

Rey pushed her plate away from her, her appetite gone. “I don’t like him.” 

“It doesn’t matter whether or not you like him,” Zorii said. “It doesn’t matter at all.” 

“Well, it matters to _me._ He is cruel.” 

“Do you believe the rumors then?”

“They’re not rumors. It’s the truth.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I know a monster when I see one.” 

Rose sighed. “If he came here to clean up his image, he’d need a convincing performance, but—” she slathered her toast with butter—“he could always be upstaged.” 

“Bishop Poe, you mean? Yes, I’ve heard he has become quite the favorite.” 

“Uh-huh. So, good ole Snoke can still fall ungracefully from the pedestal he put himself on. They always fall.” 

“I’ll push him off myself,” Rey whispered. 

Zorii folded her arms on top of the table. “Why do you hate him so much, Rey?” 

_Because he hurt the one I love._

Rey didn’t answer her. She clenched her hands into fists, the heat of her anger intensifying. It was a mixture of welcoming warmth and destructive rage. Protectiveness and total ruination. A box of matches to light the whole world on fire. The desire to watch the world burn. 

She got up and grabbed the nearly empty pitcher of water—“This needs to be refilled,” she said. And she marched across the dining hall in the pretense of heading toward the kitchen. 

“Rey?” Rose called after her. 

_Monster._

She neared where an unsuspecting Archbishop Snoke sat. 

_Monster._

Father Kylo’s eyes met hers. And she knew they would never have to be alone again. 

_Monster._

She feigned tripping—and it wasn’t hard to believe Rey was accident-prone because she was an unlucky walking disaster—and spilled whatever water had remained in the pitcher onto Archbishop Snoke’s lap. 

An uproar of motion. Chairs scraping across the creaky floorboards. An apology that lacked conviction spilling from a half-smiling Sister Holdo. Orders to hand over clean napkins from Sister Leia. A very wet and vexed Archbishop Snoke. Children laughing. 

“I’m so sorry, Your Excellency," Rey said. "How clumsy of me.” 

Archbishop Snoke quickly raised his hand to silence Rey from spewing any further half-hearted apologies and said not a word. However, his eyes spelled out his thoughts— _Foolish, insolent girl_ —along with colorful expletives. 

Rey caught Father Kylo staring at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes, a grin on his perfect lips. 

_Whoops_ , she mouthed and hurried out of the dining hall. 

  
  


* * *

Rey sat in the armchair in the corner of Father Kylo’s room and watched the time. The clock on his night table ticked, the second hand twitching around and around. Would he find her? Would he know she was there? 

She would wait. 

She knew all about waiting. 

  
  


When Father Kylo finally appeared, he shut the door behind him and leaned back against it. “There you are,” he said. 

“Here I am.” 

“You know, you’re very good at hiding when you don’t want to be found.” 

“Who said I didn’t want to be found, Father?” 

“I looked for you everywhere.” 

Now that was a pretty picture, a bit exaggerated—the priest with a severe face scouring the corners and halls in search of her, turning over every stone, breaking down doors, shattering windows of houses to peek inside, mad with the need to find her. She imagined it, and she grinned. 

“Did I ever tell you about the time I hid in a tree once in a hide-and-seek game when I was little?” 

“No.” 

She smoothed the front of her skirt. “Well, no one could find me right away. Not even the poor sisters. I watched them try. They were so desperate, too, calling out my name, running in and out of the orphanage. Finally, it was Sister Leia who did. She happened to look up, and she saw me. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t even tell the other sisters. Instead, she went back inside, and I slept in the tree that night.” 

“We all want to be found, I suppose,” Father Kylo whispered. 

“I was beginning to lose hope in _you_ finding me.” 

“I’ll always find you.” 

_I’ll always find you._

The promise embraced her like protective arms. 

Such small words felt so grand, more significant than anything and everything. 

Rey was astonished that such words existed, comforted such words were spoken and understood. 

His lips quirked into a smile, and he pointed his finger at her. “You are a troublemaker.” 

“Me?” 

“Back there. In the dining hall. You did that on purpose.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, priest.” 

“You don’t? I think you do.” 

“Fine. It was an accident.” 

“An accident?” 

“I tripped.” 

“Rey,” he warned. 

“I could’ve done a lot worse,” she grumbled. 

“You don’t want Archbishop Snoke as your enemy.” 

“He already is.” 

Father Kylo stalked towards her, like a predator in tall grass, his steps cautious, deliberate, slow, as if not to frighten her away. He crouched down and gripped the padded arms of the chair, trapping her with his body. He sighed. 

“I don’t want you doing anything foolish on my account.” 

“You think I’ll regret protecting what is mine?” 

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Yours?” 

“Yes, you are mine, Ben Solo. And I am yours.” 

A faint blush colored his cheeks. He looked away. “You’re so stubborn.” 

“Are you disappointed in me?” 

“No.” 

“You enjoyed it, though.” 

He rolled his eyes. 

“Admit it.” 

“I did. He deserves a lot worse, but you still shouldn’t have done that.” 

“Are you going to _punish_ me?” she teased.

Silence fell. 

_His_ silence, which settled between them as the sunlight slowly crept in. 

_Fuck,_ she thought. Her heart steadily beat. Her body was still as the furniture in the room. She dared look at Father Kylo. 

The look in his eyes alone sent shivers down her spine. Her body was wanting. No longer unsure, she spread her legs apart and dug her fingernails into the fabric of her skirt, tugging it upwards, bringing an additional motion to the ever-moving world. 

Father Kylo abruptly stood, his eyes chaotic, hungry. “Kneel,” he commanded. 

“What?” Her voice faltered. 

“I said, ‘Kneel.’”

Rey knelt. 

She watched his chest rise and fall, rise and fall, a hypnotic rhythm. The lull of his breathing sent her adrift into delicious oblivion. 

“Ben?” 

There were no prayers at her lips—only his name. 

He groaned, and he fell to his knees, bringing his mouth to hers. His kisses were relentless, urgent, unmerciful, all-consuming, his arms, steady and strong as he held her. He swiped his tongue over her bottom lip and bit her. Rey bit back, rubbing her palm hard against the bulge in the front of his pants. 

Their breathing became erratic, their hunger building to desperation to be closer, their touches, more intense. 

“Is that what you want, Rey?” he murmured against her lips, his hands fumbling with her skirt, dragging it up to expose her cunt—she wasn’t wearing any panties. He pushed two fingers in her, then another, hard and fast. “Is that what you want?” She opened her mouth, a moan escaping, and he attacked again, deepening each kiss, assaulting her lips with his bruised ones. “For me to punish you?”

“Yes. _Yes.”_

They undressed, and they fell back on the floor together, rolling in the pile of discarded clothes. Their bodies pressed against each other, Father Kylo gripping her hips, entering her, relentlessly thrusting, she, arching her back, razing her fingernails up and down his arms, swearing, sweating. 

_Closer. Closer. Closer._

_Harder. Harder. Harder._

_Deeper. Deeper—_

She cried out. 

He collapsed on top of her. 

They clung to each other, finding each other in the embrace, in a look, a kiss. 

_You found me, priest._

She shut her eyes, smiling.

_I’m found._

  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I'm a Fleabag fan? lol


	35. Gospel Truth

Rey was never one to merrily frolic through the gardens and hum a pretty tune, or skip and squeal and look wide-eyed in a world dipped in technicolor, where nothing bad ever happened. She didn’t do so as a child. She sure wasn’t going to as an adult. 

Rey would rather endure listening to the droning sound of Old Man Luke telling a tale of his adolescence as a farm boy. 

And yet the big smile on her face showed how big, how idealistic her dreams had become, how contagiously happy she felt inside. 

Perhaps she would’ve picked flowers, made crowns from them, and gifted each sister with one, just this once if she wasn’t so tethered to reality, if she wasn’t so selfish because she was. She was very selfish. 

She wanted to keep _it_ all to herself, this feeling of joy, this comforting warmth, this bright light. 

She wanted to keep _it_ when she readjusted her skirt and plopped a kiss on Father Kylo’s forehead. When she exited his room like an inconspicuous cat, tiptoeing past Old Man Luke’s room. Especially when she walked down the crowded corridors of the orphanage. 

All these moments. 

All this bliss. 

All this hope. 

All this was hers— 

—Until she discovered Sister Leia in the studio. 

Sister Leia rarely made personal visits to the studio. She stayed away from Rey like the plague, not that Rey minded. The two women weren’t particularly in each other’s good graces. Each with their anger twisted inside them. Each with their pain. Each with their struggle to find a place in the world, a world that rarely cared. 

The sister stood in the middle of the studio, in front of a painting, her body obscuring it. The sheet that had covered it was on the floor like a discarded shroud. 

Rey’s bliss immediately dimmed like a dying light once she stepped inside. “I wasn’t expecting any guests today,” she said, picking through her pockets for her cigarette pack and lighter. _Certainly not you._

Sister Leia didn’t answer. 

“I have much work to do, but I can make time for _you,_ sister. I do enjoy our little chats.” Rey hopped onto the nearest desk and lit a cigarette. “Well? What is this all about?” 

Again, nothing. 

Rey frowned. “Is this about the debacle in the dining hall with Archbishop Snoke? I did _apologize._ ” 

No answer. 

Rey brought the cigarette to her lips. _Silence. Like fucking crickets._ “Sister?” 

Sister Leia stepped to the side, revealing the painting, at last. 

It was the painting of Father Kylo, the one she did in that warm afternoon after the two of them made love. 

The sister’s face did not betray her thoughts or intentions. She was cool. Calm. Did she know about Rey’s affair with the priest? If she did, she didn’t show it. And a painting of him didn’t necessarily reveal any secrets either. But Rey wasn’t entirely sure. Her stomach dropped regardless, an uneasiness washing across the floorboards of her mind. 

_I have a bad feeling about this._

“How long?” was all the sister said. 

_Fuck._

“How long what?” 

“ _How long?_ ” Sister Leia repeated. 

“I don’t know what you mean?” 

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Rey. How long has this been going on?” 

Rey leaned back and exhaled, a puff of smoke drifting outward like a cloud in a gray sky. “It is none of your concern.” 

Sister Leia slammed her palm down on the desk nearest her. “The hell it is.” 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, sister. Vulgarity stains saintly garb. You don’t want stains, do you?” 

“Have you any idea what you two have done?” 

“We haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“Fools. The both of you.” 

Rey abandoned her place on top of the desk and stormed up to Sister Leia, their faces barely a few inches apart. “ _I love him._ ” 

Sister Leia’s eyes softened. “You what?” she whispered. 

Rey stepped back. She had the chance to recover her thoughts and dismiss her confusion over the sister’s sudden turn to— _What was it? Sympathy? Pity? Compassion?_ She had not the slightest clue. She had not the time to ponder either because a knock came at the door. 

Both women startled; then, they stilled. 

They dared not move, suddenly afraid to spread the little chaos found in the space between them. 

Whoever it was on the other side of the door hadn’t the patience nor the economy to waste time. The door opened. Rather slowly. Tension building, pulling at the women’s nerves, livening them to a particular pitch of fright. 

Archbishop Snoke stepped forward and stood before them, a harbinger of doom dressed in gold. 

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck me. Fuck._

Sister Leia was the first to recover. She smiled, a bit tightly. “Archbishop Snoke,” she greeted. 

“How fortunate I am to find you both in the same place, at precisely the right moment.” Archbishop Snoke’s eyes ate them up, ate the paintings on the wall, the painting of Father Kylo. Everything, his lips curling into a cruel grin. It was like being swallowed up by a great beast, stuck in its belly, in complete darkness: no escape, nowhere to turn, no light. “Fortunate indeed.” 

Sister Leia cleared her throat and broke the stillness that had suddenly fallen in the room. She picked up the sheet from the floor and covered the painting of the priest. “Ms. Rey is painting our portraits,” she explained. “She finished Father Kylo’s just this morning. Now she’s on to Sister—” 

“Let us drop all pretense, Sister Leia,” Archbishop Snoke said. “Time is precious, after all. It should not be wasted on lies. And I do not like being lied to. I find lies rather _dirty_ , impure.” 

_Fuck it._

Rey stood next to Sister Leia. “And it should not be wasted talking in circles. You know the truth.” 

“I know many.” 

“What is it you want?” 

Archbishop Snoke threw his head back and laughed, a horrible sound full of malice that made Rey’s skin crawl. 

“You two share such similar stories. Different times and different players, of course, but the same sad tales you both could tell.”

Sister Leia froze. “That is...that is enough.” 

“I haven’t yet begun.” 

“Is this about Father Kylo?” Rey asked. 

Archbishop Snoke scoffed. “This is more than my protege. More than you opening your legs to him. More than your secrets.” 

“Is this about your power then?” Rey said, somewhat impatiently. 

Archbishop Snoke’s eyes darkened. “ _You_ led him astray.” 

“ _You_ hurt him.” 

“I made him _strong_. He was weak. Pathetic when I found him.” 

Rage filled Rey’s body. “How dare you! _You_ are weak and pathetic. Small and insignificant.” She stepped forward, her steps confident, her head raised. “And you’re afraid. You’re afraid he’ll reveal the abuse he suffered at your hands.” 

“He will do no such thing.” 

It was Rey’s turn to smile. “The truth will come to light. And you will fall, you pathetic little man.” 

“A fiery spit of hope, aren’t you?” Archbishop Snoke’s eyes narrowed. “You are foolish to think such things. Me, afraid? It is you who should be afraid.” 

“That is enough! Leave,” Sister Leia ordered. “At once.” 

“And what say you, Sister Leia? Do you share the same sentiment as Ms. Rey? What are your thoughts on Father Kylo? Or should we call him Ben? That is the name you gave him. No?”

_Gave him?_

“What?” Rey turned to Sister Leia. “What is he talking about?” 

Sister Leia’s face drained of color. The mask she wore to hide her emotions fell. Her feelings, her fears, her secrets, her truths were now told in the lines in her forehead, in the quiver of her lips, in her tears, in her eyes. Her eyes, so round and big and warm. Like...Like—

_Shit._

"Are you...are you Ben's mother?" 

Sister Leia gave a curt nod.

The world suddenly tilted. It spun. It broke apart, pain and hurt and confusion spilling rapidly, drowning all reason and comfort. 

_Fuck. Oh, fucking Force._

“I will not repeat myself, Snoke,” Sister Leia said, her voice small but firm. “Go.” 

Archbishop Snoke made his way to the door, but he did not leave right away. He wished to prolong the torment, to savor in the chaos he created with his manipulation and cruelty. “Such similar stories. You both will surely share similar ends.” 

Rey felt like she was falling. She gripped the corner of her desk and steadied herself. Secrets. Secrets that had long since been buried resurfaced with a vengeance like forgotten memories, like dreams. She wanted to wake up. She wanted to hide in Ben's arms.

_Oh, Ben._

“One last thing before I go,” Archbishop Snoke said. 

Rey looked up; Sister Leia shut her eyes. 

“You will abandon your pursuit of Father Kylo, Ms. Rey, and you will make sure of it, Sister Leia. I would hate to see your secrets come to light.” 

And then he was gone. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shaking my head at Snoke* You idiot...
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Until next time❤️


	36. Midnight Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, it's been a while. Sorry for the long delay in updating! I should be updating regularly from now on since we're nearing the end of this fic *incoherently screaming with excitement*  
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> Happy reading!

The Force had a cruel sense of humor, handpicking Rey’s life as the year’s new running joke. A really bad joke that elicited no great uproar of laughter in the universe, although laughter freely spilled from her lips. 

She couldn’t _stop_ laughing, even though it felt wrong, given the gravity of the situation. And the studio’s quiet mixing with the uneasy loud hilarity didn’t help; it rendered what already was: deep, abysmal broken feelings from the two women, left out in the open like an open wound for all to see. 

_Same sad tales you both could tell._

What else was Rey to do? Cry? If Rey didn’t continue to laugh, she would perhaps shed a tear or two or even mimic waterfalls, but she had promised herself she would never cry in front of Sister Leia— _Sister Leia,_ the mother of the man she loved. 

No, she wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t show her pain so easily in tears and have no one notice, have no one care, and have her pain become an indifference; it was too great a hurt to feel, too heavy a burden to carry. 

She would laugh instead. 

“Rey?” 

Rey bumped into a desk as she clenched her belly, her entire body shaking. She laughed, and she laughed, uncontrollably so, unable to stop, unwilling to stop. 

“Rey, we need to have a serious discussion.” 

She covered her mouth with both her hands. _I can’t stop_ — _I can’t stop laughing._

Sister Leia breathed heavily. “That is quite enough.” 

“This...This is...—” Rey slowly backed away from Sister Leia—“I didn’t expect this.” 

“Come. Sit down and let us talk.” 

She swallowed the last of her laughter, the seriousness of Snoke’s words weighing heavily now upon her chest like a pile of rocks. “I just realized I don’t...I don’t very much like surprises.” 

“Rey,” Sister Leia warned. 

“No...Stay...stay away from me.” 

“Rey!” 

Rey ran out of the studio with no clear path in mind; there was no clear path, not even a hint of one, the steps becoming unknown to her, random, suddenly hidden in the hallways, beneath paved roads. And yet she continued to run, her steps loud in the silence, her laughter now harsh echoes that rattled endlessly inside her mind. 

_You both will surely share similar ends._

* * *

The bus was running late, as it always did in the afternoons. 

Rey sighed and sat at the bus stop and shut her eyes. She hung her head in her hands, waiting to be taken away from this place. She _needed_ to get as far away as possible; she would wait all night if need be, to breathe under a different sky, in a different place, in a different world. 

When the bus finally arrived, she boarded it and sat in the back, and she stared out the window, the world unraveling as it always did. 

_As it always will._

She got off on the next stop in the center of the village and went straight for the tavern, where she sat at the bar and ordered drinks and lit a cigarette after a cigarette after a cigarette. 

Well into her fifth shot, she desperately fooled herself into believing whatever happened in the studio didn’t happen to her; it happened to some other woman named Rey; it happened to someone else. Her life wasn’t entirely fucked. Surely, she wasn’t entirely luckless. She was deserving of a small bit of happiness without the constant hurdles thrown her way. 

_When will it stop? When will I rest?_

Rey paid for the drinks and stepped out of the tavern. It was no longer daytime; the sky was a deep indigo with wisps of clouds swirling amid the stars. 

Her steps now were careless, sloppy. Her mind was a labyrinth with no center, a carousel ride that spun around and around, her thoughts jumbled up and muddled. Nothing made sense. _She_ didn’t make sense. 

“Rey?” 

Rey turned around and burst with laughter. “You!” 

It was Sister Leia, climbing right out of the van belonging to the asylum. She looked in her holy garb more like a vengeful spirit than a merciful angel in the lamppost light. 

“I didn’t know you drive,” Rey hiccuped. “I didn’t know _a lot_ of things about you.” 

“You’re acting like a drunken fool.” 

“I am drunk.” 

“And you’re a fool.” 

Rey tripped and fell, ripping her stockings at the knees. “Shit.” 

_Fuck. Fuck everything. Fuck all._

“Get up.” 

“You know what you are?” 

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.” Sister Leia extended her hand out to Rey. “Well, what am I?”

Rey took the sister’s hand. “You are mean!”

“Get in the van, Rey.” 

“And bossy,” Rey continued as she staggered to her feet. 

“Well, I am Mother Superior, after all.” 

“And heartless,” she added. 

Sister Leia snorted. “Heartless?” 

They climbed into the van, both slamming shut the doors. 

“And selfish.” 

“As are you,” Sister Leia noted and started the van. 

“You and your secrets.” Rey leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “You like your secrets. You have a whole collection of them.” 

“I don’t owe you an explanation.” 

“No, you don’t. Even if you did, I wouldn’t want to hear it.” 

“I can’t go back and undo what I’ve done.” 

“He never even mentioned _you_.” 

“I left when he was young. He wouldn’t remember.” 

“Do you know what happened to his father?” 

Sister Leia’s jaw clenched. “Yes.” 

“You know what Snoke has done to him?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you did nothing?”

“You have no idea what I’ve done or haven’t done. And you will certainly not tell me what I should’ve done for my son. I tried my best. I tried, dammit. And I will continue to do so.” 

“Will you tell him?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” 

“It’s my truth to tell, Rey. Not yours. And not that bastard Snoke.” 

The road became blurry, endless, seemingly leading nowhere and everywhere. It would never end, not now, not in her lifetime, not ever, but Rey had to stop sometime, somewhere—

“Stop.” 

“What?” 

“Stop the van. I think...I think I’m going to vomit.” 

“Oh, for Force’s sake.” Sister Leia pressed hard on the brakes. 

As soon as the vehicle came to a sudden halt, Rey pushed open the door and ran to the bushes, where she hunched over and puked what seemed all of her insides, throwing up all the bad thoughts and feelings onto the bed of dead grass. 

She felt someone near, someone pulling her hair away from her face, someone showing a bit of kindness. 

Rey wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I can’t lie to him,” she whispered. 

“Because you love him?” 

“Yes.” 

Sister Leia sighed. “You won’t have to. Now let’s go.” 

“For a minute there, I thought you were going to say, ‘Let’s go home.’”

“We both know that place is not a home. It surely isn’t yours.” 

The drive back to the orphanage was mostly quiet. There was nothing much more to say; no words were invented yet to explain what they both felt inside.

However, they understood what was inside them both, the shape of it, the weight of it, despite the lack of words. They understood the magnitude of the love they carried deep within the very wells of their being, and all the hope; they understood each other's strength and each other's anger. 

"That bastard Snoke is going to rue the day he decided to threaten me and everything I hold dear," Sister Leia promised, her eyes fixed on the boundless road. 

Rey hid her smile. "He's so fucked." 

"Very. Very _fucked._ " 

And the two women laughed, reveling in their anger and holding onto their hope. 

  
  


* * *

It was well past midnight when Rey crept inside Father Kylo’s room like another shadow on the wall, moving slowly in the dark, the lights off, the curtains drawn closed. It was quiet, too, like walking into a silent, soundless dream.

“Ben,” she whispered. 

There was no answer. 

He was asleep. He must’ve been. He was snoring softly, and the covers were drawn up to his waist, his bare chest rising and falling, 

She crawled into his bed and placed her head against his chest and shut her eyes. 

She felt him startle, felt him recognize her in the dark. His arms automatically found her, wrapping tightly around her. “Hmm.” 

“Shh, go to sleep,” she whispered. 

“Rey?” 

“I’m tired. And I can’t sleep, but maybe I can sleep in your arms tonight.” 

“Is everything alright?” 

“It will be. Just hold me. Please.” 

He kissed the top of her head and held her through the night. 


	37. A Recurring Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy reading!

Father Kylo rarely had dreams. When he did, _if_ he did, they came and went like the ocean’s tide, appearing like a welcoming hand made of stardust, sometimes folding up into a fist, sometimes unfurling with fingers curled. They always beckoned him to walk deeper into the cold darkness or the dark woods. They demanded of him to abandon his body and lay bare his soul, his desires, his fears on silver platters, where smudged shadow plays then blurred behind closed eyelids and whispers as velvety as a glove revealed everything and nothing. 

When he woke, he rarely remembered those fleeting dreams. Like birds, they fled quickly, only leaving behind a trail of soft feathers. What use had he for them when he had Rey—she was his dream, whether he closed his eyes or dreamt with eyes wide open. She was real. True.

Nightmares, on the other hand, often visited him like unwanted guests, plunging him into freezing waters or burying him deep into the cold earth. 

Tonight, they came, raiding the darkness inside his mind, twisting it, paralyzing his body with terror, giving a face to unspeakable fright. At first, it was a shapeless face, a hint of one, like when one stares at wallpaper too long and makes out the geometric shapes as half-closed eyes, uneven lips, and crooked nose. The face became more definite, real. It became a face like the very one he most hated, the very one he most feared. 

Even here, Archbishop Snoke appeared as the monster he was, sneering, towering over him like a vengeful god. 

And Father Kylo was helpless, standing in the center of an imperfect circle where seven devils danced around him, their clawed hands clasped, their tails whipping the ground like lashes. Distorted smiles plastered across their faces, laughter ringing from their throats like bells. 

He wanted to run, escape, but he couldn’t, and he remained stuck in the nightmare, feeling so small and helpless. 

But suddenly, a woman appeared, twirling before him, her flowing skirts billowing out in the silent wind like a circus tent. She eerily resembled Rey, a pair of warm eyes seeking him out, and a hand aglow under a pure light reaching his. 

_You’re not alone._

He reached out—

And then he woke, screaming. 

* * *

Class was a lost opportunity; the children were too excited about the festival this coming weekend to pay any attention to the day’s lesson or even open up their textbooks. And Father Kylo wasn’t at his best to teach, dismissing his students early. He couldn’t get rid of the nightmare that had jolted him awake and screaming so loudly that he nearly startled Old Man Luke from his bed. He needed to clear his mind. Fool himself into believing that all was well. 

He hurried to his office, reciting the deceitful mantra: _All is well. All is well. All is well_ —But the lie died on his lips once he opened the door and found Archbishop Snoke sitting in his chair, ripping pages from—

_My book of stories._

He curled his hands into fists, violence trapped within them. 

“There you are.” 

“What are you doing?” 

“It’s quite clear what I’m doing.” 

“That book belongs to me.” 

“A book of filth,” Archbishop Snoke mocked, a look of disgust on his face. He set it down rather violently, knocking over a pen holder. He clasped his hands. “I’m afraid you’ve strayed, _my son_.”

“No. More like I've made a choice at a crossroads.” 

“And what choice have you made?” 

“The priesthood no longer calls to me.” 

Archbishop Snoke scoffed. “No longer calls to you? You put to shame the Dark Side.”

“The Light has been most welcoming.” 

“I’m sure it has. With open arms and open legs.” 

Father Kylo clenched his jaw. “Perhaps it's best you go. I have much work to do.” 

“Ah, you disappoint me—” Archbishop Snoke stood up from the chair and slowly made his way around the desk—“I gave you purpose. A second chance to live.” 

“You give yourself too much credit, Archbishop.” 

Archbishop Snoke faced his apprentice and reached out, touching his cheek; Father Kylo froze. “I am not a vain man, but I speak the truth when I say I molded you into who you are now, made you a powerful player, and not a pawn of the Force.” His touch turned cruel as he forcibly grabbed Father Kylo’s face, digging his fingernails into his young apprentice’s skin. “I did all this for you, and yet you are still an ungrateful child seeking to play heroics—a pathetic child. Do not cross me.”

“Or what?” 

Archbishop Snoke let him go and walked towards the door. “You have the imagination—evidence in the _stories_ you write—to figure out my full power. Also, the scars on your back—they tell of my wrath." 

Father Kylo paled.

"Do tell. How goes your back?” 

“Get out.” 

Archbishop Snoke gave a curt nod, a cruel grin—“Very well,” he said—and exited, shutting the door behind him. 

All alone now, Father Kylo raged: a strong storm settled in his stomach, a fire spread across his forehead, cheeks, earth-shattering shivers wound up his body into a senseless frenzy; he picked up a chair and hurled it against the wall and screamed. 

  
  


_All is well. All is well. All is well._

  
  



	38. With a Look

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy reading!

Rey stood outside the studio, fiddling with her faulty lighter, willing it to work by whispering an incantation of swear words: _Fuck. Shit. FUCK_. When that didn’t work, she unmindfully prayed to the Force for a little help. All she needed was a single flame. Just one. 

She shifted the pile of file folders from one hand to the other, a cigarette dangling from her lips. “Come on. Work. Work for me.” 

She flicked the lighter once, then twice, until she finally managed to get a steady flame. “A fucking miracle.” 

She sighed and leaned back against the wall, exhaling a cloud of smoke that obscured the world. A numbness washed over her. A detachment severing her from the wall behind her, the building, the sky, the ground, everything, and nothing. 

She was untethered. A balloon just floating up and up and up. 

She shut her eyes. 

The world no longer made sense. Maybe it never made sense. But not knowing frightened Rey—not knowing what tomorrow was to bring, or the tomorrow after that—the tomorrow of tomorrows— _frightened_ her. 

She was by no means a soothsayer with the power to predict what was to come. She had only the talent to wait. 

And she waited in fear—afraid of the monster that was Archbishop Snoke. 

_That fucking asshole_. 

The world slowly began to reappear when the smoke cleared, and she remembered Sister Leia’s promise— _That bastard Snoke is going to rue the day he decided to threaten me and everything I hold dear_. 

She didn’t know what that promise meant, but she recognized and understood Sister Leia’s anger, the violence in her words. It comforted her. It filled her with hope. 

So she was torn between two contrasting feelings, hope and dread cruelly battling in her mind, in her chest. 

She was unsure which would win in the end. “Fuck.” 

She put out her cigarette and entered the studio, expecting an empty room, but to her surprise, she found Father Kylo, standing in front of the painting she did of him. 

He was clad in his usual holy armor: black slacks, black buttoned-down dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, polished black shoes; however, the clerical collar was missing. He was tense, quiet, seemingly lost in his thoughts, lost in his silence. 

“Ben?” 

“So this is how you see me?” he said, his voice gentle, his eyes still set on the painting. His words were heavy, hopeful even. 

Rey put the folders down on her desk. Something was quite not right. There was a sadness pooling at his feet, an unspeakable pain in his voice. She went to him and stood behind him, like his second shadow. “Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “This is how I see you” —she stared at her creation on the canvas—“I see intense eyes. A brooding look on a beautiful face—” 

He snorted at the mere mention of the word beautiful. Him? Beautiful? Unlikely. And yet, he listened for more, hoping there was more. 

“You are beautiful, Ben. The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I see your warm, refrigerator-sized body.” 

“Refrigerator-sized? Really?” 

“Shhh.” 

He rolled his eyes. 

“I see a toothy grin that puts to shame all that is bright. I see amazing hair like black waves I’ll like to run my fingers through, and a constellation of moles I’ll like to map. I see _everything_.” 

His breath hitched. 

“I see _you_.” 

Her words were beautiful. They seeped into his skin, stayed there in his very depths like planted seeds, and believing them felt like flowers were blossoming in his chest, an entire garden blooming in his stomach.

_I see you._

To be seen was a blessing. To be _truly_ seen. And after all this time, too. 

He lived for so long in the dark, unseen, unwanted. And in the dark, he believed he was nothing. A used, pointless body. A weapon that only knew how to destroy. A formless shape that felt only pain. 

The dark was Archbishop Snoke. 

The shadows were doubts and secrets. 

The moonlight was a faraway dream that often slipped through his fingers like water. 

He stepped away from the dark and _saw_ her as if he were seeing a sunrise for the first time. 

Rey shone so brightly. 

She was warm. Light. Hope. 

She was _home_. His. And he was hers. 

She smiled, raising an eyebrow at him. “What happened to the collar?” 

“Got rid of it. I think I’ve pretended to be something I’m not long enough.” 

“Ah, a new adventure awaits.” 

Father Kylo shook his head, wrapping his arms around her, and muttered, “You’re my undoing, alright.” And he kissed her. 

Rey rightfully kissed him back, matching his intensity, his passion. She opened her mouth to let him in, to let him devour her. 

_Destroy me. Then recreate me with your love_ , she thought wildly. 

She wanted to feel good. 

She wanted him to feel good. 

She wanted to be the one to make him feel good. Always. 

Rey broke away. “Lock the door, priest.” 

He breathed heavily and started toward the door. “No longer a priest,” he pointed out. 

She hopped onto the nearest table. “Well, I’m in the mood for some role-playing. I’ll be horny. And you’ll be the naughty priest.” 

“That’s not role-playing—” he locked the door—“That’s us being, well, us.” 

“Oh, come here.” 

He stood before her, his hands gripping her waist, his thigh nudging her legs to part for him; she wouldn’t budge. His eyebrows furrowed. “No?” 

She leaned back and smiled. “It’s your turn to kneel, Father.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Is it?” 

She nodded. “ _Kneel_.” 

He obeyed and knelt in reverence of her like a knight venerating his lady. There was a stillness, an eternity of looks. As he waited, he conjured up pretty pictures in his head of his hands on her body, of his unholy lips pressed against hers. 

She spread her legs. “Touch me,” she said. 

He grabbed her ankles, wanting to dig his fingers into her skin, to claw at her, leave harsh red lines along her legs and have everyone know he was there, but the stockings she wore prevented him from going animalistic. 

“I said, ‘Touch me,’ Father.” 

He reached underneath her skirt, piling the fabric around her waist, and dipped his fingers into the stockings, slowly rolling them down, his fingernails grazing her skin as he went. She trembled at his touch, the heat of his palms rubbing against the cool of her thighs. He discarded the stockings, chucking them to the floor, and lifted her one leg over his shoulder, commencing his campaign of kisses. Each kiss was a little fire, intense, spreading across her skin. When his lips pressed against the inside of her one thigh, she jerked, her body stirring like a live wire. 

“Fuck me,” she breathed, tugging at his wrists. 

“Impatient, aren’t we?” 

“Fuck me. Now.” 

No, he would take his time, his one hand traveling up her chest, passing each breast, not before a playful squeeze to each one, then around her neck, then the bottom of her face, his thumb rubbing in circular motions against her cheek. She clawed at him until he let go of control, taking two of his fingers into her mouth. She sucked on them, coating them with her saliva, scraping his knuckles with her teeth. 

He stopped to watch, her look telling him _Now Now Now._ “Tell me what you want, Rey.” 

_Oh, Force._ “You. I want you.” 

He unzipped his pants and took out his hard member. “You want my cock, Rey?” 

She wrapped her legs around his waist. “Yes.”

When he pushed aside her soaked panties and entered her with one hard thrust, she screamed a thousand _yeses_ , moved a thousand ways. She begged him to come closer and closer, and he did. And their togetherness, the grinding of their hips, the slapping of their bodies, their violent kisses sent them into a delirious frenzy, into a delicious climax. 

They remained embraced after, both clinging onto the other.

“Ben,” she said, her hand over his heart. 

_I love you_ , he thought and held her tighter. 

He knew what he had to do. 

  
  
  



	39. Spark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everybody! I hope you all are safe and doing well. I know it's been a while since the last update. I had to take a bit of a writing break, but I'm back! I hope you enjoy these two chapters, and as always, happy reading ❤

All journeys eventually end—

The bus groaned as it drove through the quiet village, which appeared like a miniature town model when left behind in the distance. As it went, the giant wheels ground against the gravel road, and the exhaust pipe sputtered out hisses. The radio played static. A cacophonous chorus of sounds, a private symphony of unwanted noise. All these sounds and all this noise sank deep into the cracked seats, pressed violently against the windows, keeping the passengers who sat like dolls trapped inside a car toy still. Eventually, all the sounds faded. And the ride came to an end. 

Bishop Poe was the last passenger to disembark, abandoned at the thickly dust-coated bus stop with Amidala Asylum and Academy looming in the distance, a dismally gray building amongst the green hills and flat fields. 

He placed his suitcase down and watched the bus disappear. It was too late to change his mind. He was now stuck—There was no turning back. 

He retrieved the letter he had received from Sister Leia some time ago from inside his pocket and unfolded it. He read it. And he reread it. He had read it so many times, too many times, he could easily recite it to anyone willing to listen. No one was around. If they were, none would care how he had recognized the urgency in the handwriting or commend his study of the strung together words, which were scribbled in haste, and the inky blots which marked the empty spaces between sentences. 

_You’re our only hope_ , the final line read, which struck him most of all upon every reading. 

He knew Sister Leia for a very long time. She had been, after all, his mentor. And hope, he had learned, was never a thing she carelessly threw around. Hope was fragile; hope was hers, and she kept it and bared her teeth out to anyone who dared take it from her; those who dared were pitiable fools. 

He sighed. “I’ve pulled crazier stunts than this.”

Fighting in the war and becoming a pilot, joining the priesthood and assuming the bishop’s role a few years after—all undoubtedly crazy stunts, choices he had made that shocked many, disappointed some. But his choices were his own. He had been resolute, determined to walk the path that was his and his alone, learn the ways of the Force, find peace with his place in it, and help others do the same. 

He would walk the same path now. 

His arrival at the convent would easily be seen as a power move, hungry and young as he was. He wanted to achieve more, of course, but he had come for one reason and one reason only—to fulfill the promise to put things right, as the letter called for, as his conscience told him from the very beginning when he suspected the archbishop’s cruelty. He would help cut the poisoned appendage that was Archbishop Snoke with the precision of a surgeon or a butcher. He would gladly do so. 

All journeys eventually ended—Bishop Poe folded the letter, placed it back inside his pocket, gathered his suitcase, and started down the long road—but some were just beginning. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Sitting on top of Father Kylo’s cluttered desk, Rey tried her best not to squirm like an unlucky worm caught on a hook. She cleared her throat and made a third effort at reading his newest short story—a naughty love story between a scullery maid and an old baron. The attempt proved futile. The words blurred despite his fine penmanship, and she was quite sure she read the spanking scene twice now; she couldn’t focus, no matter how hard she tried. 

It was all Father Kylo’s fault. He was distracting, sitting in his chair like some bored divine god ready to play without the threat of consequence. Not that he was an unpleasant distraction; he was a marvel, a wonder not entirely enshrouded in mystery but a body covered in evening blooms, of delicious secrets, of unusual beauty. He was a rare sight, and she enjoyed the sight of him, even if her heart thumped a bit faster, and her breath hitched—

_Damn fucking priest._

His rudely large hands enclosed around her ankles, and he, while still sitting, perfectly positioned himself between her legs, which no longer dangled over the side but balanced on top of his thighs. He seemed unbothered that her heels dug into him and creased his trousers, too preoccupied with her skirt to notice or care. 

“Now, Father, you must keep your hands to yourself,” Rey said in a rather unconvincing tone. “We don’t want to be late for lunch, do we?” 

His lips twitched into a smirk. “My hands are where they ought to be.” 

“Do you want me to read your story or not?” She waved the paper in front of his face. “And whatever happened to your dirty book? I’m very fond of that book—you might even say I’m _attached_ to it.” 

“Nevermind the dirty book,” he said rather hastily. 

“Well?” 

“I’ll like you to read it, but read it out loud. I like hearing the pretty sound of your voice.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Keep your compliments, priest.” 

“Then I will just have to whisper them in your ears like devotions.” 

She swatted his hand away. “Hands to yourself, Father,” she warned one last time. 

He fell back into his chair, seemingly defeated. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Go on.” 

She cleared her throat and began reading a small passage of a scullery maid seducing an old baron. When she finished, she smiled. “What a strange smutty story, Father.” 

“It is only a rough draft,” he murmured, and his hands once again found her body. 

“Disobedient boy,” she teased, discarding the story on top of the already existing pile of papers. 

He quickly rose and seized her around the waist, bringing her close to him. “Then punish me.” 

“I just might.” Rey knew how precious time was; she knew not to waste it. She assaulted his lips with her own, and the world and its troubles were forgotten. They had fallen into a private closeness, to an unknown place, behind the moon, beyond the stars, to a new shiny kingdom they built in each other’s arms where they were safe, where they were happy—

Such peace rarely lasted here at the convent. 

The door to Father Kylo’s office door opened without warning, and a man in holy garb entered. “Oh,” the man said, a simple sound of surprise. 

Rey and Father Kylo untangled themselves from each other, scrambling to appear _decent_ and not the horny fools they were, but there was no point in denying what the stranger walked in on, was there? No point in pretense. 

Love could indeed be held and comforted in the dark, but it needed to be shown the light, as well; it needed its welcome. So Rey raised her head a bit higher, and Father Kylo, beholding her fierceness and her unhesitating power to openly love without guilt—to love him, _him_ , when he believed all this time no one ever would—took her hand in his. 

_I am not ashamed_ , she thought.

And neither was he.

The man cocked an eyebrow at them, curious, most definitely, slightly unperturbed, then somewhat bored. “So,” he began, placing his hands on his hips. “Who talks first? You talk first? I talk first?” 

“Bishop Poe,” Father Kylo said dryly.

“The last I recall, yes.” Bishop Poe made himself comfortable and sat down. He looked around the office, took in the small room and everything in it, and returned his gaze upon the lovers. “I suspect my visit here will surprise many. I enjoy a good surprise. Don’t you?” He allotted no time for an answer. “By the looks on your faces, you clearly do not.” 

“Right.” Father Kylo ran his hand through his hair. “Uh...This is Ms. Rey.” 

“Ms. Rey.” 

Rey’s smile was small. “Bishop.” 

“What brings you here?” Father Kylo asked. 

“I hear a festival is in the works this weekend. Call it fate, destiny that I’ve come at the right time.” 

“Right time? What do you mean?” 

“I think you know.” Bishop Poe clasped his hands. “Much has happened. From what I can put together, happening upon the two of you as I did, you’ve formed an attachment, Father.” 

“My heart’s no longer in the priesthood,” Father Kylo admitted, squeezing Rey’s hand. “My heart lies elsewhere.” 

_Oh_. 

Rey suppressed the urge to jump into Father Kylo’s arms and kiss his entire face and keep the delicate declaration like a caught firefly in her hands—this was hers—it was, it was all hers—this little moment. It was still an odd thing to find one’s belonging in someone, to feel not alone. But it was precious, and she looked at him in complete adoration. She hoped he knew she would offer up her own heart, too, that her heart was his just as much as it was hers. 

“So it seems,” Bishop Poe said. “Listen. You need not worry about me. Honestly, none of this—” he gestured to both Father Kylo and Rey—“interests me. In fact, I came here for something entirely different. I received a letter from Sister Leia, detailing a particular _problem_.“

“Archbishop Snoke,” Father Kylo said. 

Bishop Poe nodded. “I should’ve met with Sister Leia first, but I wanted to meet you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You see, I’ve brought with me a box of matches—” Bishop Poe retrieved a small box from inside his pocket and shook it— “I plan to light the spark that will burn down all that Archbishop Snoke built. But Sister Leia and I need help. We need _your_ help, Kylo.” 

“Ben. My name is Ben.” 

Bishop Poe smiled and tossed the former priest the box of matches. “To new beginnings, _Ben_.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	40. The Statue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *now for some Rey and Rose shenanigans

“I can’t believe _he_ brought his entire entourage to a convent,” Rose remarked, clearly unimpressed by Archbishop Snoke’s band of monks in all-too-bright red who appeared unannounced on the doorstep that morning. 

Rey stood next to her on the stairway landing and looked down. “Believe it or not,” she said. “It’s all a rotten feast to the eyes.” 

The hallways, although usually congested with sisters and staff and laughing orphans, their comings and goings as regular as clockwork, felt more suffocating, unbearably closed like a cage, its walls seemingly itching to touch and adjoin like hands. The new guests, curiously eyed by the children and unwelcomed by those who saw their appearance as an intrusion to their day-to-day routines, took up more space, swallowing up shadows without the blessings of the mother superiors, their watchful eyes eating up every movement and sigh— _His_ presence was in every face of this league of yes-men and foot soldiers. 

It didn’t matter if the doors and windows were kept unlocked. There was no escape. No slipping away from the claws that aimed to dig into flesh and stay hooked. No running free. 

“Excuse me! Coming through! Watch now!” 

Zorii’s voice was louder than a bullhorn. Most would argue she had the power to part seas, many moving aside to give her a clear path. She walked through without having to bump into anyone, occasionally looking back to the three errand boys following her; the poor boys lagged, struggling with the weight of a large package they were tasked to carry. “This way,” she told them. “Just right this way now.” 

Rey leaned against the railing. “Curious,” she muttered. “Very curious.” 

“Curiosity killed the cat, Rey,” Rose said, knowing well enough nothing could stump on Rey’s spirit of inquiry. But she had to try, at least, in dissuading her friend in favor of minding one’s business. 

Rey smiled, suddenly all too giddy. “Ah, but satisfaction brought it back.” 

“Fuck,” Rose groaned. 

After some time, they took the path Zorii walked and ended up in the staff room, which was now empty—and safe to _explore_ in peace. The large package was perfectly placed in the middle of the long wooden table, left there like a temptation. Or a trap. 

Rey shut the door behind her, eager to strip the package of its mysteries, while Rose stopped short from the table, carefully eyeing the package as if it were a bomb, ready to detonate at any given moment. 

“Shall I open it?” Rey said. 

“You’re dying to open it anyway.” 

“Aren’t you? Are you not curious at all? Not even a little bit?” 

Rose shrugged. “I’m prepared for disappointment.” 

“Well, we’re about to find out—” Rey proceeded with the opening—

The opening of the package wasn't like the unpeeling of clothes or feeling the earth move beneath their feet; it was a quick act that quickly put out the fire of curiosity. Inside, there was no pearl or great treasure. Only an award in the form of a bland and hideous abstract sculpture, swathed in crinkly tissue paper. Upon closer inspection, the award had an inscription, dedicated to none other than Archbishop Snoke himself. 

Rey blinked, hesitant to believe what she saw with her own eyes. “You must be twisting my tits.” 

“He’s receiving an award?” 

“Looks like it.” 

Rose shook her head. “What a small, small vain man.” 

“I’m not even sure what this is supposed to be exactly.” Rey cocked her head to the side, and for some reason, she moved even closer to the opened package like an invisible puppet master manipulating her perhaps. She reached inside and curled her fingers around the sculpture—“It’s heavy.”—and lifted it. “It’s actually really heavy—” 

Rose’s eyes widened. “Rey, wait!” 

Rey’s grip was, unfortunately, not firm enough. The sculpture slipped out of her hands and crashed onto the hardwood floor, breaking into many pieces. Silence seeped from their O-shaped mouths, their eyes betraying shock. 

“Fuck,” Rey whispered. 

“Is that all you can say?” 

“I have an impressive collection of dirty words, but _fuck_ always comes to mind at times like these.” 

“Really?” 

“ _Fuck_.” 

“How will we explain this?” Rose began to pace. “‘Oh, here’s your broken award, you broken foul man. No hard feelings.’” 

“Rose.” 

“So many people will show. The reputation of Amidala Asylum and Academy will be besmirched.” 

“Rose?” 

“We’ll be the laughing stock. We’ll be the fools who can’t even provide a stupid award. And mind you, the convent barely gets the attention it needs, barely receives enough funds to keep going.” 

“Rose—”

“We’re screwed. And we’re to blame.” 

“Technically, I’m to blame. I underestimated the weight of it, but I can fix this—”

“How are you going to fix this, Rey?” 

Rey had an idea. She ran to the broom closet— “I can fix this, I can fix this”—unlocked it, and flung open the door. 

She expected to find a closet stock-full of cleaning supplies. However, she didn’t expect to find a young Temiri crouched in the dark, pressing down on a bleeding nose. “Temiri?” 

“Ms. Rey.” 

“What now?” Rose looked over Rey’s shoulder. “Temiri, what the Force are you hiding in the closet for? And why is your nose bleeding?” 

“Me and the others—we were playing a game—hide and seek—so I hid here, and I accidentally locked myself in. I tried to get out, but I ended up knocking over some things, and a bucket, I think, fell from up top there on the shelf and hit me pretty hard.” 

Rey shook her head. “Temiri, what did I tell you?” 

“Throat-punch your enemies?” 

Rey’s eyes widened. “No, no, I did not say that! I told you to be careful with these old doors.” 

“Oh, right.” 

“Rey!” 

“What? I didn’t say that. I swear, Rose.” 

“Violence is not the answer,” Rose said. “Now, head right on over to the nurse so she can take a good look at your nose, Temiri. Hurry.” 

Temiri got to his feet but stopped when he saw the mess on the floor. “What happened?” 

The two friends shot each other a _look_. 

“Temiri,” Rey said. “You didn’t see Ms. Tico or me here today. You didn’t see this mess. You saw nothing. Got it?” 

“Sure?” 

“What was that?” 

“I saw nothing.” 

“Good. Now get out.” Once he was gone, Rey grabbed the broom and the dustpan and cleaned up, wanting to simultaneously laugh nonsensically and huddle in the corner and break down in utter tears. 

“Now what?” Rose asked. “What are we going to do?’ 

“Are you panicking?” 

“NO!” 

“That wasn’t very convincing, Rose!” 

“I just don’t want to see you get into any trouble.” 

Rey dashed across the room and dumped all the broken pieces in the wastebasket. “I’ll be fine"—she threw the broom and dusting pan back into the closet and ran straight to the door—“We’ll be fine.” 

“Where are you going—” 

And then Rey was gone. 

Rose sank into an armchair and stared up at the cracked ceiling, and sighed. “I need a drink.” She turned to the side, the clock on the wall loudly ticking, each second a painful reminder of what was broken. Not that she gave a damn about Archbishop Snoke’s feelings. She would enjoy seeing his face upon discovering the broken award. She would very much enjoy it, indeed. 

“I’m back,” shouted Rey, loudly slamming the door shut behind her. 

Rose jumped at the sound, nearly feeling her soul leave her body. “So, I’ve noticed,” she muttered, her hand over her fitful heart. 

“Good news. I found a replacement.” 

“A replacement?” 

Rey nodded and revealed the replacement: a small headless and armless statue of a very naked woman. 

As quickly as hope sprung, it took a dive into a pool of tar. 

Rose could only stare. “Are you serious?” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Are. You. Serious? We can’t replace the award with this!” 

“Why not? I think it’s a neat sculpture. Modeled my body for reference.” 

It could not be helped—the two friends burst out in laughter, and what a pure sound of happiness it was; it rolled off their shoulders and pooled around their feet. It was the sort of sound powerful enough to chisel away at the tension and the worry. 

“Cigarette break?” Rey asked, wiping away a tear from the corner of her eye. 

“Cigarette break,” Rose agreed. 

* * *

They stood shoulder to shoulder, leaning against the gray wall out back behind the convent, the cigarette smoke a heavy veil that hid them well. The sun occasionally peeked from behind the tall trees’ branches but proved too shy to shine down on them. And so their little place in the cool shadows was made up of two. 

“Do you think the world is a terrible place filled with the worst people?” Rose asked after a while. 

“There _are_ terrible people in the world,” Rey answered. 

“I suppose there are.” 

“I don’t think we’re terrible.” 

“I made a kid cry once on Life Day.” 

“Monster,” Rey teased. 

Rose’s smile was small. Flat. She stabbed her cigarette against the wall and then crossed her arms as if to hug herself. 

Rey’s eyebrows furrowed. “If you’re worried about the award, fuck it. Fuck Snoke.” 

“It’s not that.” 

“What’s the matter then?” 

Rose retrieved the crescent-shaped medallion she wore around her neck and brushed her thumb across it. “The world seems less good. And I hope—I don’t know what I hope, but even hope is heavy sometimes, heavier than stones, and it drags you down.” 

“It’s okay, Rose.” 

“Is it? Paige used to make a fist of my hand and say I held all that is good, and I had to hold on tight. I just want to hold on to whatever good is left. But it’s so damn hard.” 

What words of comfort existed? Did they exist at all? Had they ever? If they did, where were these magical words? Were they stubbornly stuck in the middle of the throat of someone wise? Were they written down in an old book abandoned on a very top shelf? Or were the words always moving, creeping up slowly like a spider to closed lips, getting farther and farther away? Would they escape then or end up tangled in a web? 

“I miss her,” Rose whispered. 

Rey took Rose’s hand in hers. “Come on,” she said. 

_Come on_ —meaningless when spoken out loud, but once settled on her lips like dust, the words echoed back— _Keep going_. 

  
  
  



	41. Keep Going

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy ❤

Rey stepped away from the blank canvas, narrowing her eyes at it, daring the invisible muse to reveal itself. 

But no one appeared, and nothingness stared back—

She shut her eyes and fell into darkness, and there, lines like silver threads untangled and kept on, pooling with other lines, blurry shapes floating like small boats, colliding, sinking, sails drifting on the waves, shards of glass catching the light, and shadows curling around moving figures in an embrace. It was then she saw everything, worlds imperfectly perfect in her open palms. 

She opened her eyes, dipped the tip of her paintbrush into red paint, and began to create her little universe of warm fires—bloody fists—beating hearts—flushed cheeks—red dresses—devils with sins on their lips. 

The long cracks on her skin were painted red, too. She wasn’t broken. Not like a shattered vase put back together again. No. She was simply unrooted. Tossed about in the wind. Tired. 

But she was made whole every time her fragments coupled like fingertips touching. These fragments, these paintings, these icons. Hers. 

She gave them freely to the world, even if the world didn’t want them. 

She put the paintbrush down, and when there was nothing more to give, Rey left the studio without casting her eyes upon the thing she created. Whatever it was, it was done by her hands. It was a piece of herself, hers, and no one else’s. 

_Mine_.

* * *

Rey entered the asylum through the kitchen, quickly grabbing a muffin off the tray on the counter, and wandered without aim. Staff acknowledged her with simple nods. Students politely greeted her. And Rose appeared, running toward her to her next class, shouting, “Tonight at Canto,” before disappearing around the corner; she chuckled, taking a bite from her muffin, and wandered some more. 

The walls, the hallways, the rooms, this place never belonged to her, even if moments of her life were forever preserved in the cracks of the ceiling. Moments, here and there, some faded, some clear, moments like when she refused to cry after a sister slapped a ruler against her upturned palms, or when she sole cookies when Eunice the cook was too busy solving a crossword puzzle to notice or fought whoever made fun of her three bun hairstyle—all these moments housed here like a glass jar full of fluttering butterflies. 

More fragments of herself like splinters in the wood. 

This place was never her home. 

It was a place she happened to be stuck in. 

At first, she thought it was a cage. Her cage, but it was no longer such a thing. 

Father Kylo rounded the corner. He smiled upon seeing her, like an astronomer discovering a new bright star. 

This place was never her home. 

It was a web. A labyrinth with a beginning and end. 

It was a place where she found the hope to find her way out. To fight her way out. 

The lovers met halfway. 

“Miss Rey,” he addressed her, mischief set in his eyes. 

“Father.” She reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips, unafraid.

He kissed her lips hard, just as equally unafraid, more daring. His hand traveled down her back, and he pinched her ass. “The walls have eyes, sweetheart.” 

“Didn’t think you were into voyeurism, Father,” she said. 

He smirked. 

_Fuck_. 

“Ben?” 

“Yes.” 

“Fuck me.” 

“I’ll think about it.” 

“What’s there to think about?” 

He tilted her chin up, his eyes going dark, and said, “Of all the ways I’ll have you.” His words sent shivers up and down her spine. 

She sighed. “Tease.” 

“Insatiable brat,” he quipped and went on his merry way. 

Rey finished the rest of her muffin, shaking her head. _Fucking priest_. 

She went on and passed by empty classrooms, one after another, straying further and farther from the center of this labyrinth, this place that was not her home. But she paused in the middle of her journey. The door of the staff room was left ajar, and voices came from inside. 

_Keep going_. 

She seldom took her advice. 

_Fuck it_. 

She walked back and pressed against the door and peeked inside. 

There was Archbishop Snoke like a poor copy of an unloved king, surrounded by his monks in red, and Bishop Poe, twiddling with his lighter, staff flocked on his side. They sat opposite each other at a table, a game of Sabacc at play. 

“What do you say, Archbishop? Are you in a daring mood?” Bishop Poe said. 

Those present murmured. 

Zorii, amongst them, spoke. “A bet? I didn’t take you for a gambling man, Bishop Poe.” 

He shrugged. “I have fun here and there.” He turned his attention back to his rival. “Well?” 

Archbishop Snoke narrowed his eyes. “If you win—” 

“If I win, the ring on your finger becomes mine.” 

The ring in question was nothing special—a gold band, an obsidian shard affixed on top. A jeweler would tell you it was nothing of real worth, but it had to be worth something for it to be the archbishop’s treasure. 

A symbol it was—a symbol of power. His power. 

Archbishop Snoke twisted the ring on his finger. “And if I win?” 

“You win this portfolio envelope Father Kylo bequeathed to me,” Bishop Poe said, waving it in the air. 

Rey frowned. _Ben_? 

Archbishop Snoke narrowed his eyes, a cruel smile carefully carved on his thin, cracked lips. “Very well.” 

Rey barely paid much attention to the game. Her mind was elsewhere, deeply entrenched in questions that sought out answers. What was in the envelope? Why did Father Kylo give it away? Why was Bishop Poe willing to risk losing it? _What the fuck is going on_ —

Archbishop Snoke suddenly rose to his feet. “I’m afraid I’ve won this round, Bishop.” 

Bishop Poe leaned back in his chair and sighed, a bit nonchalant for someone who lost. “Seems you have. Well, a deal is a deal.” 

One of the monks reached out and took hold of the envelope, and no sooner Archbishop Snoke, like a dragon hoarding all the gold of the world, plucked it from the monk’s hands and held it himself, his smile, his cruel smile, growing. “A deal is a deal.”

* * *

Rey found courage at the bottom of an empty shot glass. 

In the bottom of three, to be more precise, especially after downing each one of vodka. She pushed the glasses aside and cleared her throat, but her voice was stuck behind her teeth while her mind pulled at the memory of Archbishop Snoke’s cruel smile. She was unable to hide from the truth in the smoke-filled tavern. She had to tell them. She had to tell someone. She wrung her hands, dug her fingernails into her palms as if to unbury the secrets she kept inside, to tell Finn and Rose everything— _everything_. 

She sighed. 

And her secrets finally spilled all over the table. 

“There it all is,” Rey said. 

“There it is,” Rose echoed. 

“You know, this reminds me of a soap opera the one summertime a bunch of us at the orphanage religiously watched,” Finn said, picking up his glass and swirling the ice inside. “The drama of it all is riveting. Who would have thought it? Sister Leia, the mother of Father Kylo. And you and Father Kylo! I told you one day you’ll fall in love!” 

Rey put her head down on the tabletop and groaned. 

“Shit’s going to hit the fan this weekend,” Rose said. “I just know it. I have a bad feeling about this.” 

“When did you become the prophet of doom, love?” 

Rose rolled her eyes and leaned in close to him. “Life is not all smooth-sailing, _dear_. Bumps in the road are to be expected, and feeling everything at once or nothing at all, too. But—” 

Finn smiled. “Ah, here comes the conjunction—”

“I have hope things will get better. I believe they will.” 

"Do you really think so?" Rey asked. 

Rose brought her necklace out, her fingers curling around the pendant. "Yeah, I do." 

Music suddenly played, and it was a melody that moved bodies, stirred awake sleepy souls, lulled dancers to forget their troubles. 

Finn got to his feet. “I like this song,” he said and enclosed his one hand around Rose’s wrist. 

Rose shook her head and reached out across the table, enclosing her hand around Rey’s wrist, and nodded toward the dancefloor. “Dance with us.” 

No one paid the three friends any attention. No one cared about their sloppy steps or silly spins or sways. No one listened to their laughter. 

They held onto each other. 

They held all that was good. 

* * *

Rey was the first to let go. 

“I’m off,” she said, quickly pecking a kiss on each of their cheeks, and stepped off the dance floor.

Finn and Rose remained. 

They closed the distance between them and clung to each other, his arms wrapped around her waist, her arms looped around his neck. They moved together in their little universe, safe with each other, loved. 

Her hand on the door handle, Rey turned back one last time. “Stay out of trouble, you crazy kids.” 

Rose, snuggling into Finn’s chest with her eyes shut and a smile on her lips, raised a defiant middle finger. 

Rey saluted back.

Then she was gone.

The stars kept her company on her way back to the asylum. The moon’s light shone on her path. The wind gently nudged.

In the dark, all was peaceful. Even her mind, where chaos had reigned all day.

“What luminous beings we are,” she muttered and kicked a rock with the tip of her boot, bringing one foot in front of the other. She kicked the rock, again and again, falling into a rhythm of movement—Kick. Step. Kick. Step. 

Keep going. Keep going. Keep going. 

All was quiet at the asylum; darkness loosely draped around the trees’ branches, leaves rustling as the wind passed through. She climbed the front steps and pushed open the door. 

Keep going. Keep going. Keep going. 

At first, she didn’t recognize the three figures standing in the middle of the hallway. Couldn’t register their voices. 

Keep going. Keep going. 

There was Archbishop Snoke. Sister Leia. And Ben. 

Their faces were all wrong in the dark. 

Rey stepped forward. 

Sister Leia’s eyes were like two ice cubes the size of gems that had yet to freeze entirely, inside, water still swirling, unshed tears. 

Ben’s hands were balled into fists, desperately holding onto violence. He carried it, too, on his shoulders, breathing hard, shaking. 

And Archbishop Snoke, his lips stuck in a smile, that cruel smile. “Consider this my parting gift to you.” 

Ben slowly backed away. He looked smaller somehow. Undone. 

He turned around and sped down the hall, right past Rey. 

“Ben?” 

He kept going. 

“Ben!” 

He was gone. 

Keep going. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
